Elderstar - Book Two: Banners High
by Freya Thorine
Summary: "Who are ya, lad?" Heran asked, putting up his sword and scrutinizing every move the mouse made. He could barely see the stranger's face for his cloak hood pulled down over his eyes, but he could see the sway of his body, his clenched teeth and his whitened knuckles where his paw gripped the sword handle. "What's yar name?" "Martin," the mouse replied. "My name is Martin."
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

Well, onwards and upwards we go with our tale! I hope you all enjoyed _Elderstar - Book One: The Red Prince _(but let's be honest – you obviously did or else you wouldn't be reading the second part, now would you?).

In book one, we watched many things happen. A strained father-son relationship begins to mend, the beginnings of political reform, the promise of a bright future doused in darkness and the buddings of young love grow, only to seemingly wither on the tree. A lot happens in book one – but even more happens in this part of the story.

Here's to the adventures to come in _Elderstar_ _– Book Two: Banners High__,_

Yours in writing,

_Freya Thorine_

(And cheers and sharp quills, as well!)

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything (i.e. characters, locations) pertaining to the Redwall series written by Brian Jacques. All original characters, places and circumstances, are my own.**


	2. Prologue

**Elderstar**  
**_Book Two: Banners High_**

* * *

_These times are of trouble,  
The banners fly high,  
And the clouds lead to rumble  
So high in the sky.  
These times are of trouble,  
This is no place for you,  
So go on, get going!  
Before they come after you.  
And we will stay here,  
The Few and the Brave,  
And we will defend you,  
And die this own day.  
But don't shed a tear for us,  
We've done what we could.  
You will get far from here,  
We knew that you would.  
These times are of trouble,  
The storm starts to brew,  
And the clouds lead to rumble,  
For the Brave and the Few._

* * *

**Prologue**

_~~~ In the Lightened Days of Southsward, a power stirred. It was small at first – like a ripple on the water – before it became a large and demanding force; but also like a ripple, it too had a beginning … ~~~_

* * *

Fire blazed in the giant hearth, its yellow and orange flames licking at the pine logs piled high onto the iron grate. Banners hung from their hooks on the exposed timbered beams above, their silver cloth of gold tips glinting in the firelight like the edge of a blade poised for the strike as rain streaked down the wall of windows overlooking the bay. Around the large hall, small groups of creatures conversed in lowered voices. The most prominent looking creature amongst them, a mouse dressed in a deep purple tunic and heavy ebony mantle, stepped towards the long table centering the room; his arms held out in a universal display of amity.

"My friends," the mouse proclaimed and gestured to the chairs. "Shall we begin?" he questioned and took his seat at the head of the board.

Cautiously, they pulled away from the sides of the room, taking up vacant spaces and eyeing their neighbours. They were a motley crew of woodland creatures, from the highest standing nobles to the lowest of labourers; each speaking in the distinct dialects of their regions and dressing according to their life's station. With a wave from the host, servants came forward with offerings of wine, small ale and spring water refreshed with cucumber and mint. Once everybeast held a beaker, the mouse pushed himself up to his footpaws once more.

"Welcome back to Carminack, my friends," he began. "And our gratitude must first go to our brave brothers in arms for bringing the vermin to heel at the Battle of Blackened Fields!"

Four creatures- a hedgehog, a squirrel, an otter and a badger- looked modestly about the assembly as fisted paws rained down on the polished wood top. They were battered and bruised; red-brown patches of seeped blood crusting on their bandages as they accepted the praise. Still they could see the blazing grass before them, hear the screams of the creatures burning alive in the flames. No amount of scrubbing could remove the sot from their paws or the smell of charred flesh from their nostrils. To them it was not the victory the bards made great with their songs- yes, they had won the battle, but they had far from won the war.

The badger held up his paw. "Thank-you, but truly this is not necessary."

Beside him, a lithe river otter made a similar gesture; the flush about his cheeks covered up by the deep purple bruising under his fur. "We only did what we had to do."

"Seasons grant we never have to do it again," said the hedgehog warrior and he blinked his remaining eye. "Fates forbid those demons from coming back."

"But they will." The mouse's words were as hard as a hammer fell. "We thought they were done the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. Each time we drop our guard they attack a village, sack a town. The moment we are lax, they know and press their advantage on us.

"That is why we are all here today," he continued, directing his speech at the whole gathering. "To discuss the defense of our country- the defense of Southsward."

"And what would ya have us do, Lord Lyall?" asked a strongly built sea otter sitting two beasts down from the head; his sky blue uniform glittered with the array of medals covering his left breast and a light grey sash draped with casual formality cross body from his right shoulder. Once he had everybeasts' attention, he spoke again. "You summoned us from the Southern Isles- how do you think we help you fight them?"

"Denyl's right," a gruff otter barked. "We're sailors- we ain't landlubbers."

"Because without all there is nothing!" Lyall shouted against the whispers which hummed about the air, threatening the fragile peace of the room. He beheld his company for the length of three heartbeats before shuddering out a loud exhale and slumping back in his chair. Resting his elbows on the armrests, Lyall massaged his temples. "Don't you all see- the world is changing, shrinking. Things that once were are no more and the protectors we once leaned on are gone from us. It is up to us to remake our own defense.

"The Isle of Rainwreath is sealed, her Wreathguard scattered and our safety from the east insecure." Denyl and his fellow sea otters shifted uncomfortably on their seats. "Some of you have grouped together on the Southern Isles, but what of the rest? Gone? Fled? Bloodlines died out? Whatever it is, it doesn't matter; what matters is there is no Seasons' shield in the east.

"The trouble continues in here in the south," Lyall continued. Stretching up, he leaned on the table and rapped claw against the polish. "Lord Bayard- how many seasons of dust sit on the throne of the Southern Palace?"

The squirrel lord blinked twice. "Countless, Lord Lyall."

"Countless," the mouse reiterated. "Countless seasons since a Badger Lord held the citadel of Constillion. Frankly, I'm half-surprised we have not dealt with this problem sooner."

"What're we supposed ta do," piped up a shrew dressed in a peasant's garb. "Roll o'er 'n die cuz we ain't got no ruddy stripedog- er, _lordy_ stripedog ta go all crazy 'r none o' you ottery-guards ta go boo in t' night?" He farted his tongue and waved off the notion. "Gimme a whole legion of shrews, smellin' 'n filthy, 'n we'd push a pike so far up t' arseholes bottoms they'd be choking on the tip."

As crass as the shrew had been, his statement gained the nods and chuckles of the assembly. Lyall smiled and relaxed against the back of his chair. Steppling his claws at his lips, he mumbled, "Exactly."

Everybeast was silent as he snapped a claw and two servants hurried forward with a tome and ink. A vessel of quills were placed above the volume with a candle and various bolts of coloured wax.

"A charter?" Bayard scoffed as bright silk ribbons were laid out beside the wax and intricately drawn maps of Southsward were positioned about the table for all to see. "Why would we need a charter?"

"For the defence of our country, for an army." Again silence rushed into the void of airless space once the gathering simultaneously sucked in large dregs of oxygen.

"An army?" a vole gaped. "Like one t' always be a-fighting?"

"One to always be protecting, yes," Lyall corrected and let his eyes glimmer with a moment of hope when Denyl tipped his head to study the charts. He needed Denyl to buy into his idea. He needed a Stalwallows on his side. If Denyl approved the idea, the remainder of the Rainwreath warrior families would follow their last skipper's descendent without question. Bayard would consent Constillion if Denyl gave the Southern Isles' support and together with his hold on Carminack, they could control the commons. So much rode on the placement of blue ribbon and black wax.

"What do you propose, Lyall," Denyl said plainly. "What kind of army?"

"A Southern Army," he nodded to each of the group. "An army for us all, to protect us all."

"And where would it be housed?" Denyl pressed, almost in anger rather than interest. "How will it be armed, clothed, fed?"

"The army is welcome to position themselves here, out of Carminack. As to the financial details, I believe after a brief sponsorship from the high standing nobility, it will be self-sufficient."

"And who will lead it?" the sea otter drawled out. "Have you a captain? A general?"

"Generals" Lyall affirmed with a tilt of his head to the end where the four war veterans sat wide eyed and stupored. "Five generals will control the army to avoid a dictatorship. All of us lords have too much invested to be outstripped by a battle crying upstart."

"My Lord Lyall," the badger protested, "We aren't- I mean, we're just fighters…"

"You led the combined forces with bravery and honour," Lord Bayard said. "You four have the trust of the common creatures…"

Conversations broke out around the table, voices clattering to the pinging noise of the rain pelting the window panes. With a nod from Lyall, a mole and a squirrel were ushered in through the doors to present their drawings for the army's proposed headquarters; the architects showed plans for the renovation of the current city gatehouse and reconstruction of a city wall once two more residential and merchant rings had been added to accommodate the rise of population. Seeing all others engaged in the presentation, Denyl leaned over his armrest to stare directly at the lordly mouse.

"What's the catch, Lyall? What do you really want- what are you after?"

"Nothing but a peaceful night's rest, Denyl." The noble mouse shifted his position to better converse intimately with the sea other. "My family has held the Mariner lordship of Carminack since we were invested with the title by the third son of Brock in the Dawning Days. Always have we overseen and protected Carminack on the Badger Lord's behalf- I'll be damned if I'm going to let my family's title fall to a band of vermin on my watch."

"I suppose I can respect that," Denyl shrugged. "Still, I have to wonder why you included us in the meeting."

"Surely you realize if Southsward is taken by vermin they will turn their eyes on the Southern Isles?" Denyl was as unresponsive as a statue. "I need your leadership, Denyl- be the army's fifth general."

The sea otter bent back, his features skewed in thoughtful consideration. Taking a drink of wine to give him courage, Lyall pushed. "You are of a great name and respect on the Southern Isles, Denyl, but it is Commodore Tydefell who holds the real power- oh, now, don't give me that look- a name is nothing to the command of thirty war vessels." The mouse paused and waited for Denyl's offense to recede. "Come to Carminack. I will give you a hereditary lordship and you can reclaim some of your ancestors' past glory and become a general of our army. It may not be the title of skipper in a sacred otterguard, but it is the highest ranking order in this new army and you will have the opportunity to lead it to victory."

Denyl thought for a moment, the pulleys and cogs working his mind and weighing his options. After a moment he replied, "You have a badger in the generalship," he stated with a subtle clawpoint to the foot of the table. "Badgers are not known to be good followers, but leaders."

"He is not from the Brock family line," Lyall assured him. "He does not have bloodwrath, just bulk and muscle."

Denyl scratched his chin, running his tongue over his lips before conceding his lips to a smile. Stretching out his paw to the Mariner Lord, he said in a commanding tone. "For Southsward."


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

He was a stern looking beast; one that was done with the whimsical laughter of youthful days and the hopes of a better world. With each battle scar, reality and war had weaved their way too deep in his soul for light hearted thoughts. He focused on hard truths now. Never looking at what might have been, but simply at what was and how they could move forward from it.

The otter's dark eyes shifted from side to side as he strode through the wide cobbled street of Carminack towards Fort Drayden. Timbered homes and merchant shops lined the road, leaning in at the tops as if they were inanimate versions of village gossips bending an ear at the mention of whispered news. Down the back alleys and side streets, laundry hung between windows like hidden banners of surrender over life-beaten creatures that freckled the gutters holding up open paws for alms or a crust of bread. Carefully, he took in the citizens from the boasted wealth of each merchant to the age of young creatures scurrying across his path; but what the otter took particular note of was the condition of the legionnaires which loitered about the city. Grim faces and hungry bellies made up contingents of fighters peppering the city- their shoulders slumped and paws desperate to hold their weapons again, not necessarily for battle, but what came to them in the aftermath. A full coin purse was easier to lift than the spirits of half-starved families.

The jingle of his bodyguards' chainmail clinked in time with their steps causing beasts to turn their attention to the physical reminder of a forthcoming spring march. Seeing the otter's green cloak fanning out behind him and the flash of bronze from a large medallion pinned into the fabric at his left shoulder, all creatures drew a respectful step back to give the company a wide berth.

"General." "Welcome back, sir." "General Halock." Were their usual forms of greeting, though they gained no response from him but a curt nod. It had been a long winter in Southsward and a hungry one; however, the tradebeasts looked just as fat as ever, much to the general's vexation. Halock pursed his lips and pushed himself to walk faster. It was apparent he would have more to talk about than Constillion's militant issues at the Meeting of the Generals.

Through the districts of Carminack they marched the main road. Past the muddy passways of Low Quarter and the thriving Trade Mark they trod to Bellshadow. The street twisted up still more and forked on the apex of Sealoft. At the top Halock paused, looking right towards the large homes of Carminack's prominent creatures before focusing on the immense stone and timber structure looming above the entire city from its vantage point: The Mariner's Manor of Carminack. Five homes down from its iron gates a simple mansion set back from the street caught his eye- its chimneys smoking with freshly lit fires to welcome him home.

"General?" one of the guards asked and took a step forward. "Do you wish to get settle first before-"

"No," Halock spat and swung around to the left. "We go to Fort Drayden first, Wes," he added to the hedgehog and gestured them forward with the wave of his paw. They hadn't gone four steps when he heard the sound he had been avoiding all winter.

"General Swale." To the general, the soft female voice was like claws being dragged down a slab of slate- its languid tone slipping under his skin to crawl his spine into a hidden shiver. Peering over his shoulder, Halock curled a lip up at the sight of an elegant lady sea otter standing before a lightly armed contingent of otterguards bearing the Stalwallows badge; an 'S' wreathed in laurel. Dressed in a mulled yellow gown with a matching green overlay, the lady looked like the deity of spring, complete with the silent threat of frost.

"Kass," was Halock's curt reply and he tipped his head at his guards to continue their progress. Being used to the general's brusque mannerism, the six creatures didn't even question his blunt dealings with the noble lady and dropped back into their formation.

Her laughter rang through the humid air around them- the timbre light, haughty and with as much warmth as the winter sea. "Halock Swale, you have never changed!"

"Why do you sound surprised?" He resisted the urge to growl. "I was the one who _didn't_ change, remember?" Giving the slightest of bows which looked more like a shoulder shrug, Halock added, "I have to go, I'm late."

"Halock, stop!" she chortled and walked towards him. "Is it really so bad to see me again? You've been gone a long time-"

_Not long enough, _Halock thought and scrunched up his nose. "I was only in Constillion for a season, Kassandra."

There was poison in his retort despite its plain words; their hidden meaning lost on the guards, but the not the lady. Kassandra sighed and unclasped her paws at her midsection, flopping against her sides in defeat.

"It's been ten seasons, Hal. You need to learn when to let go."

"I don't find it as easy as you," he muttered and spun around to find her in his shadow. Raising an eyebrow at her close proximity, he added, "And if I'm the one who has to let go, why did you come to greet me home?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Halock, I _did not_ come to meet you," she replied and pushed her way in front of him. "I'm on my way to Fort Drayden to wait for Iason. We're due at the Mariner's Manor after your Meeting of the Generals."

"Convenient that," he said and sidestepped around a stagnant pool of water collecting in a dip in the cobbles. Normally, Halock would have just trudge through the bilge, but after six days of walking through the musty swamps surrounding Constillion before they hit dry roads, no amount of mixed sea and river otter blood could make him dip a footclaw in anymore muck.

_"Inconvenient, _you mean," Kassandra corrected him. "You've been travelling for over a fortnight, Halock. You stink."

Unconsciously, the general dipped his nose down towards his armpit and retracted almost instantly at the scent. Behind him, his bodyguards snickered and nodded their confirmation as he looked up at them; Wes even held his nose and waved a paw in front of his face. Halock glowered and they returned to their stiff formation, each casting a wary eye on the Stalwallows guards following their mistress.

"So, I'm a bit ripe-"

"A bit!" Kassandra jolted at his incredulous underestimation, twisting to the left as he drew up beside her. "A hungry pike wouldn't even come near you right now, Hal."

More muffled chuckles arose behind him and Halock shot his beasts a glare. "Shut up," he grumbled over his shoulder and tried to change the subject to anything besides hygiene. "Why is Iason at the meeting? He's an alderbeast, not a general-"

"He's acting as spokesbeast for the Council of Alders," Kassandra said, cutting him short before insults could fly. "They have some concerns to bring forth to you generals and since Odin is _ignoring_ any missives for the council, they are making physical representation at this assembly- even Lord Lysander is there."

"What could they possibly have to talk to us about?" It was more of a courtesy question than one actually seeking knowledge. Again his eyes strayed to the crowds as they walked; still he continued to assess the creatures' conditions- the bartering for foodstuffs, number of patches on clothing, layers of dirt on young ones' faces. He knew what the alderbeasts wanted. He knew it all too well, but it wasn't him who needed convincing nor did he have the patience to listen to her meddling comments on a topic he would be likely conversing about for the next hour.

"You lot should just leave the running of the army to beasts that understand warfare."

"I think we _lot_ know how warfare is conducted," she sniped and gripped her gown skirts tighter in her paws until her knuckles glowed white. "We-"

"By we, I meant _you."_ Halock's words were cold and cut like a knife. "Females have no business pushing their snouts where they don't belong, least of all the goings on of an army!"

She gaped at him and his countenance hardened to another degree, as it always did when he armed his emotional walls against her. "You wield a blade in battle Kassandra Rillette and then come talk to me about war," he added to further his point.

"I may not hold a weapon, Halock Swale, but that doesn't mean I haven't fought in any battles," was her terse riposte. "And it's Kassandra _Stalwallows_. _Lady Kassandra Stalwallows."_

Her guards puffed out their chests at her affirmed affiliation and she increased her stride, insuring she was a half-pace in front of him. With his fists clenched into tight balls, Halock forced his eyes away from her and focussed on the massive stone and brick structure ahead as they dipped through the archway into the circular courtyard rounding out before the keep of Fort Drayden. The once gatehouse to the primitive city, Drayden's main building stretched its grey walls above the roofs of the other city buildings; its top alight with white banners depicting a flaming orange sun- the same insignia embossed on Halock's bronze medallion.

Stepping inside the fort, the otters were welcomed by the eerie wail of a Southern Horn and the metallic shuffle of legionnaires straightening up to attention at their posts. Littered about the compound, bodyguards stood in clusters; their garb serving as pockets of colour against the muted grey backdrop of the stone structure and outbuildings. Quietly they conversed amongst themselves, ever casting an untrusting eye at the other groupings in silent assessment of their qualities.

"General Halock," a squirrelguard said, breaking from his gathering to come forward and greet the otter with a smart salute. "Its good t' see you in Carminack again, sir."

Halock jerked his head in nodded acknowledgement. "It's good to be back and have two paws on the ground- I'm sick of walking around treetops on wooden planks and-" his attention strayed slightly as Kassandra broke away from him with her guards to gather with the others in Stalwallows regalia located across the courtyard. "-So, where's General Odin?"

"Inside with the rest of the generals." The squirrel rolled his eyes to the right and flicked his ears at the squadron of creatures clad in black and silver uniforms. "The Mariner Lord is here as well, sir- and Lord Stalwallows…"

"So I've been told," he grunted. "Did Odin know they were coming?"

"No, sir," he replied. "Mad as a, well, a badger when we got here and he saw their bannerbeasts."

"Did he really receive messages of concern from the council this winter and ignored them?"

The squirrel popped his eyes at Halock statement and slinked back slightly under his leather jerkin. "Well, sir, I don't really know what the scrolls said, but-"

"Don't lie, Ashby."

Taken back by the informal acknowledgement, Ashby quivered his lower jaw in thought for a moment before answering. "Well I- yes sir, he received messages. Almost daily."

Halock sighed and scanned the outer vestibule of fort. The lower levels were open to the blacksmith forge and kitchens, the smell almost indistinguishable between the two. Hammers battered against the anvils like a magistrate's gavel; the same cracking sound of justice, sentence and the resounding reminder that life was not what you made for yourself, but what others dictated for you. Assistants and apprentices scurried about placing spears and pikes into their racks, each of them desperate to impress the master trade enough to vouch for them at the spring trial and escape the fate of holding a pole weapon for their life. It was ironic to Halock that creatures would want to skirt around war so much, yet be quite content to forge the means to which others would go to battle with. Turning his attention to the east side of the building, the pungent smell of onions and spoiled fish curled the general's whiskers.

"Cleaning out the kitchens?" he questioned, taking note of the line of hungry legionnaires lining up with bowls in paw.

"Cleaning them out?" Ashby looked over his shoulder as a portly hedgehog slammed a cauldron down on the table and began ladling out stew. "You mean serving lunch, sir."

"That food is rotten," Halock snapped, his hackles rising with the sound of his voice. "You can smell it from here."

But it didn't seem to matter to the creatures. One by one they took the offered food and made their way to the shaded edge of the courtyard, sitting down on the dirty flagstones in groups and gulping the soup down without hesitation.

"They don't seem to care," Ashby sighed. With a snort of disgust, Halock squared his shoulders and marched into the open doors of the keep; the whole time feeling Kassandra's gaze burning into the back of his head.

* * *

"They were fat, lazy and only concerned with how pretty they looked in their armour," Halock reported to the other six beasts encircling the roughhewn table centering the meeting room. Four creatures garbed in the same green cloak and bronze medallion groaned and rolled their eyes, while the remaining two, a regally clad mouse and stoic-looking sea otter, received the news in silence. As Halock proceeded to recount his winter of training the legionnaires of Constillion, the more grumbles circulated around the table and a look of disinterest fidgeted through the mouse's demeanour. The sea otter, however, continued to sit straight in his chair, his eyes looking over the tops of the others' heads. Every so often he would nod at a comment or grimace slightly, but always retaining his vigilant position to stare at the vacant wall before him.

"So, they're ready for another marching season?" a hedgehog general named Beron asked in the gruff tone of a beast who enjoyed his pipe too much. "We don't want those damned cowards tuckin' tail like they did last time. Lost us the battle, they did."

"What do you expect from a bunch o' pansies that are taught to paint a naked maid instead of rut with it?" exclaimed a squirrel as he pushed the creases from his tunic before lounging against the back of his seat. "They are breeding softpaws…"

"I believe it is called _culture,_ General Rinc," the noble mouse interjected and leaned forward on the table. "Something this city _once_ had as well." The five generals begrudged a respectful silence as the mouse eyed them sternly. "And please- keep your uncouth comments behind your teeth in my presence- and that of Lord Stalwallows. You warbeasts may converse how you like on the battlefield, but in our company you will be respectful."

"You are in _our presence,_ Lord Lysander," the badger growled from the head of the table. His massive paws were crossed over his broad chest and scars marred his exposed fur, giving him more the markings of a tabby cat than a badger. Turning his head slightly to better show his bared teeth, he forced his voice into a cold retort. "Remember you are not at your manor in a meeting of your own. You are in _our _Fort Drayden, in _our_ Meeting of the _Generals._"

The mouse was undisturbed by the implied threat and casually waved about the room. Like it was a command, Halock's gaze strayed from the simple bits of furniture to the white banners burnishing the blazing orange sun as they hung as quiet reminders in between windows. Over the fireplace, a forged display of spears and swords melted together at their centers was as decorative as the hall got; but that did not matter to Halock nor any of the other generals.

"Ah, yes- _your fort." _Lysander's voice rung with a mocking air. "Only it was given to you by _my family._ Perhaps you should remember that, General Odin."

"And it is by our blood and sweat that has allowed _your family_ to remain in its seat of power."

"I have served my term in your cursed army, general," Lysander sneered, "as will one of my sons when they are of age as per our arrangement. Don't delude yourself into thinking you are the only beasts who have bled for Southsward…"

"We are well aware your family is committed to the army, my lord," Halock grumbled out, interrupting the argument before it escalated its tension. "We are not questioning that. What Odin is wanting to know-" he paused and looked at the faces of his fellow generals before continuing, "-is _why_ you and Lord Stalwallows are here?"

"Can't be for the bally food, wot," General Selby huffed out and pushed his plate forward with the remnants of a stale scone and long aged strawberry preserve. The hare ran the back of his paw over his mouth, stopping mid-swipe as all eyes turned to him. "I say, chaps- what's the googly eyes at, wot? My ears turned green or something?"

"Button your yap, Sel," Odin snarled, glaring the hare into silence. "Remember what I said outside about 'wot-ing' with a forked tongue-"

"It seems beasts have a lot to remember when they are in your presence, General Odin." The source of the gathering's attention shifted like weights shifting a pendulum; six lines of vision settled on the creature mid-board where Iason Stalwallows continued to stare unblinking at the wall before him. Without so much as a throat clear, he continued, "Perhaps their minds would work best if their bellies had _food."_

A pin didn't drop, but a bell tolled long and low in the distance as if counting down the very straws of Odin's short amount of patience. Unfolding his paws, the badger thumped his palms down on the hardwood, clattering the salvers and goblets with their vibration.

"What was that remark, Lord Iason," Odin barked.

"As you heard it, general," the sea otter affirmed and turned his head towards the disgruntled voice. "Don't play the fool- you know your legionnaires are starving."

"A few of the stupid ones maybe," Odin huffed. "We provide food at midday for any legionnaires in need."

"Half-rationed, half-rotten…"

"Half-priced," Odin corrected him. "Don't forget, Lord Iason, I have thousands of mouths to feed and only equity when the army marches bring in food from the other legionnaires. We haven't called up the banners for a full season- my treasury is almost empty-"

"You mean the _Southern Armies_ treasury," Lord Lysander amended as he glanced at his claws nonchalantly. "I doubt their coffers are low, Odin."

"We of the Council of Alders have sent you constant missives regarding our concerns, general," Iason said in a commanding tone, resuming his implore to the other four generals. His clouded gaze skimmed over their ears before settling on Halock, much to the otter general's displeasure. "We have had complaints all winter about the lack of coin. Males are stealing; children are begging in the streets, females are on their knees at merchants' doors pleading to work- or worse- for coin or food…"

"It's been a long winter, Lord Iason," Beron snorted and took a drink of ale. "We'll start the march once the rains are done and they'll get paid then." Halock raised an eyebrow. Beron. Forever would the hedgehog be loyal to Odin, no matter what course through hell the badger led them on.

Sensing the subtle cue, Rinc took up the change of topic. "That's right. Scouts are reporting the vermin tracks on the eastern coast are more than usual."

"Their activity on the seas has increased as well," Halock put in. Taking a folded parchment from his belt pouch, he handed it across the table to Iason who immediately felt the waxed marking on the seal. The otter general felt a stab of selfless guilt as the sea otter twisted his face in concentration while his fingertips viewed the image for him. Halock had faced many things in his life- from childish name-calling to outnumbered combats- but no matter what his struggle, he doubted any of his troubles amounted to the daily battle Iason fought each day. To live without seeing, to be blind as Iason was, would be a torture Halock could not imagine.

"Caol?" he spoke almost solely to Halock. As if he saw the general's nod, he pressed, "What does Commodore Tydefell have to say on the matter?"

"More black ships moving from east to west, then east again," Halock summed up. "He's trailed them a couple of times now, but they lose them against the currents once they get into the Eastern Sea- a corsair's galley has slaves to row against the tide, making them faster than any of our – er, Caol's, ships," he explained after a few puzzled mutters.

"Are they coming from Irgash?"

"Caol doesn't say, but he's got the Southern Isles well patrolled with his fleet from Lorhaven."

Iason tipped his head in thanks and for a moment, Halock forgot all the others in the room. Though only a few seasons older than Halock, Iason held the wisdom of a sage and an unwavering respect from all otters only his name could command. Halock may be a general of the Southern Armies, but he was also a Swale; and a Swale would always revere a Stalwallows- their true line of skipper and thus leader, no matter what the circumstance. Blood was blood- you couldn't change it, or so Halock was reminded each time he looked in the mirror and saw the features of his river otter mother disguised in his father's sea otter frame staring back at him.

_Yes, blood is blood,_ Halock thought as talk of legionnaire wages resumed again. _Even if it is thinned down by water._


	4. Chapter 2

**Special thanks to Shadowed One 19, MrDill and minkspit for reviewing the last chapter.**

**Shall we finally the antagonists? ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

A tall rat stood at the railing on the quarter deck. Shouts and whip cracks resonated from the deck boards below him as seabeasts scurried about the planks and crawled up the masts securing lines and riggings to bring the mighty ship into the cavern's hidden port. The rat's amber eyes burned as bright as the torch-lit beacons in the cavern, his paws folded neatly over his broad chest. A long grey jerkin clung to his upper body before hanging loosely about his legs to his knees; its gold trimmings glinting in the dim light and maroon shirt cuffs billowed out at his wrists and chest light red sails. Waves crashed against the vessel's hull, spraying water from the Eastern Sea up and over the railings, but the rat stood firm. The water of _his _bay may splatter on the wood at his footpaws, but it would never dare to soak _him._

"Watch t' starboard side, Bludpaw," he ordered and leaned over the banister to command the rest of the crew. As he did, his curved sabre and sheathed daggers clinked with his movement. "Pull t'ose ropes fast, ye scraps o' fur!" he hollered. "Haul in t' oars 'n bring 'er in slow!"

"Aye!" was the reply from the vermin and a few growls answered the whips' newest targets. The rat sneered a yellow-toothed smile at the cries. The new recruits from the Isle of Irgash would learn the hard way not to be lazy when aboard _his _ship – hopefully they were bright enough to let the lesson transfer to the battlefield where it wouldn't be whips to mar their backs, but the blade of the enemy straight through their spines. At least he had obtained seasoned mercenaries with this voyage and wouldn't have to waste time training them for combat. All he had to do was ensure they feared retreating more than going forward, but that was an easy feat to master; it would take a daft beast indeed to choose a live skinning over being run through by a woodlander.

"T' current is fast t'day, milord," Bludpaw grunted as he struggled to hold the helm true to course. "It's bringing 'er in t'Clapsbay quick."

"T' tide is going out," the rat observed and cast a look at the top mast in its relation to the looming crevice. "Watch t' waves. Ye must ride 'er in onna low wave, o' else t' mast'll crack t' top."

"Yes, milord," the ferret answered and visibly gulped. He had no control over the waves or speed now the sails had been drawn up and the oars pulled in to fit through the entrance to the cave. All he could do was aim the ship straight at the center and pray to the Fates a low wave pushed them through the hole.

"Hold it steady," his commander demanded, sinking his claws into the railing. "Hold it, ye worthless cur."

Bludpaw gulped again and resisted the urge to close his eyes as the bow stem dipped into the abyss. Water whooshed and sucked in around them, thrusting the galley through the opening and over the wave break with a deafening roar of surf and rushing sea. For a brief moment they skimmed through a ring of pocketed fire and into a short set of rapids scaling downwards in the rocks. All was dark around them and Bludpaw griped his wheel tighter in the seemingly limitless void before them. It was, as many had said, the very image of entering Hell; the rush, the fire, the black shadows of endless night. But Bludpaw was not a newcomer to the bay – he knew true hell still laid before them.

The ship shifted and groaned in response at being tussled around the wakes, her rudder chains fighting Bludpaw's hold on the wheel. In the blackness, the rat snarled at him, "Hold 'er steady – straight 'n true."

Two heartbeats passed where the ferret couldn't breathe. He was completely blind in the darkness, deafened by the echoes of water bouncing off the cavern's walls and the odd fearful shout from the crew. Still, he clutched the blackened oak between his paws as the ship skipped once, twice over another series of rapids before … silence. In an instant the waters calmed and the vessel glided serenely over the still black-green waters. Bludpaw exhaled the stress from his body and allowed himself to snicker at the gaping vermin gathering at the side rails, pointing up towards the cave's ceiling- a counterfeit night sky alight with golden flecks of mica acting as stars reflecting torchlight.

"Ye did good, Bludpaw," the rat nodded and descended the stairs to the main deck as the ferret guided the ship to its port. Behind them another vessel crashed over the rapids and into the secret harbour. "Ye earned ye grog on t'is voyage. I not be forgittin' ye."

"Milord," he said and bowed as the rat made his leave.

"All hail the Lord of Clapsbay!" a fox shouted from the rock-sheaved slips as the rat stopped at the apex of the ship's ramp. "All hail Lord Clune!"

A shuffling thud echoed as vermin all bent a knee in the rat's presence. He smirked at the reverence and strode down the ramp and onto the rock surface of the natural dock, his golden accents jiggling with his gait. Every beast kept their head down until he passed them, stopping only when he was in front of the fox.

"Serhan," he leered in the darkness and flicked his claws towards his palm, signalling the fox to rise. "How keep Clapsbay in me absence?"

"Clapsbay is well, milord," Serhan assured him. "It welcomes home her lord." He placed a fisted paw over his heart and tipped his chin down. "Lord Clud said ya would be returning today."

"Did 'ee now?" Clune chuckled under his breath. "T' Ruspics must o' been havin' a seein'." The ratlord looked back at the ships unloading their cargo; boxes, beasts and slaves. "New recruits fer t' army, Serhan," he said with a nod. "Make sure t'ey be kitted up proper. Spring t'is on us- t' fightin' be startin' soon."

"Yes, milord," Serhan replied and followed Clune as he started walking to the small chamber carved out in the wall where a series of pillowed settles waited to be occupied. Torches burned on either side of the entrance, casting an almost green hue about the inky façade of the cave. "There is a small problem, mi –"

"How long till t' tide go out?" Clune interrupted the servant. Flopping his wearied body down on the pillows, he leaned back and stretched his legs out before him.

"The tide – erm," the fox looked back at the rocks and noted the lines of slime becoming visible on their surface. "Well, not long now, milord, but –"

"T'en don't ye t'ink ye should call out t' water rats ta brace me ships?" It was more of a command than a question. "If one o' me ships capsizes 'cause ye be blubberin', I be frailin' ye alive."

Serhan eyes darted to the three-tailed whip coiled at the rat's hip. "Call out the bracers!" he bellowed and pointed a claw at the two weasels standing by the pile of oaken beams. "You two – open the gate and let the water rats out!"

Clune scratched his chin as the sound of chains clanking and the eerie noise of creatures slipping into the water. They were noiseless as they swam and only the startled yelps from the vermin standing too close to the water's edge confirmed the rats were out of their holding cell. They reached the edge and hissed at the nearby beasts, fanging their teeth like snakes and staring at them blindly with white eyes. Countless seasons in the murky darkness had evolved blind and light hurt their eyes. They were used to dark, shadows and water. Water they could swim in, water they could smell in. They were deadly and half crazed, almost completely feral, but still they recognized one creature as their master; their ghostly gaze settled on Clune.

"Pole up t' ships," the ratlord said in an even voice and they slithered out of the water to gather the tall oaken beams settled at each rocky crag. "'N be quick about it – t' tide is running fast." Clune scanned the cavern taking in the small fleet as they swayed on the lower waters; all looked to be in order – his newly returned four vessels, another ten smaller schooners tied off down the line and one mid-sized ship … missing.

"Serhan," Clune chimed and gave the fox a sideways glance. "Where be _Offnet_ 'n Capt'n Cinereal?"

"That's the problem, milord," Serhan sighed. "Captain Cinereal has not returned to Clapsbay. None of the crew from _Offnet_ have returned."

"W'at da ye mean, _none returned,"_ he growled and smacked away an offered flagon of arrack. The reddish liquid flashed out of the servants paws and rained down upon the already damp stones. "A ruspic be on t'at ship!"

Clune stood up and snatched the fox up by his tunic collar, holding him a hair's breadth from his face. "T'at ship s'ould returned afore us, 'r at least wit us…"

"Perhaps they're a day or two behind, milord," Serhan gulped and struggled in the rat's powerful grip. "I'm sure they'll show up- I'm…"

"Git out o' me sight," Clune spat and threw the fox away from him. Settling himself back down on the lounge, he leaned back on the pillows and placed a paw on his dagger. "Bludpaw, Nartooth, Danik! Ye have me watch. Wake me when t' Gates be open."

"Aye, milord," the three said together and stepped in front of their sovereign. At the sight of their backs, Clune drew in a great breath and exhaled slowly, the pungent smell of rotten straw wafting from the slave compounds and the acidic smell of sea water burning his nostrils. He smiled and closed his eyes. He was home.

* * *

Within an hour, all that remained of the sea in the hidden harbour were small tide pools and marooned urchins and jellyfish scattered about the wet sand. In a single line the vermin descended onto the seafloor; veterans conversing amongst themselves and a few instructing the new recruits on what would happen next as they made their way to the small patch of rocks with a seemingly shallow pool of water lapping over the edge.

"It be t' way inna Clapsbay," an old stoat explained as Clune strode up onto the rock pile first. "Hope ya all c'n swim!"

The ratlord jumped into the pool, treading the water for a moment before taking a deep breath and diving beneath the surface. Down he swam in the darkness, counting in his mind as he went. _One, two, three, four…_

At the fifth count, he turned to the left and kicked deeper. _Six, seven, eight…_

_Nine…_ His lungs screamed for air. _Ten, eleven, twelve…_

At thirteen, Clune reached his paws upwards, kicking for the surface and breaking the line of the water with a great gulp of air. Pulling himself out of the hole quickly, he shook water from his ears and waited for him eyes to become accustom to the darkness again. Behind him he heard others breaking the surface, coughing and gasping as their lungs hungrily sot the air.

"Do ya have the lantern, milord?" Nartooth rasped out. "It be dark… GGAAHH!"

The vermin all sprang to attention at the gagging sound, pushing themselves away from the noise. Clune growled and drew his sabre, pointing it towards the shadows of the cave.

"Gloomer!" he snarled, tapping his blade on the wet fur of a dark form an arm's length away from him. "Drop 'im."

The creature snorted a growl in response, choking his prey closer to him and relishing the gasping retort his captive made.

"Drop 'im, Gloomer!" Clune yelled, stepping closer and pushing his blade across the creature's neck. "'Ee be worth ten o' ye. 'Ee can least see in t' daylight. Drop 'im o' ye die, o' can be a bracer like t' rest o' ye kind."

His choice came in the form of Nartooth's coughing and whooping sucks of air as he was released from the strangle hold. The water rat spat and shuffled his way back from Clune's blade.

"Where be t' lantern, Gloomer," Clune pressed. "W'at ye do wit t' light?"

"Eyes hurts it my," Gloomer responded, cowering back away from the ratlord. "Not need I light see to."

"I not be carin'. We be needin' t' lantern ta see inna tunnels."

"Here it be, Lord," another rat named Croctail said quickly from where he was supporting Nartooth as he fought for air. "It be at my footpaw."

"Flint!" the rat commanded as he snatched up the lantern from the ground. "Who be a beast carryin' a flint?"

"'Ere, Lord," a voice said strongly from the shadows. "It be a mite dark wit out t' light."

Clune chuckled at the speaker and felt about the air until his paw came across the offering before claiming the flint from the voice's outstretched paw. Setting the stone to his dagger, Clune lit the wick with the spark and watched as the green-glassed light attacked the darkness of the cave. Gloomer pulled back to the shadows snarling and hiding his eyes, as the gathering horde blinked in appreciation of the dim brightness. The ratlord turned towards the voice and stared into what seemed his reflection.

"Clud," he smirked and clasped his brother's shoulder. "Funny seein' ye 'ere inna dark. 'Ow'd ye git down 'ere wit out a light?"

"I 'ave me ways," Clud said, motioning his head back to the archway where a dark form lingered in the shadows. "T'ey not need a light ta see."

Clune sniggered and gestured for the rest of the creatures to follow the two ratlords out of the cavern. Turning to Clud, he whispered, "So, Gloomer be t' new watchbeast?"

"No creature gonna mess wit a water rat," Clud said firmly as they followed the shadow down the up the stairwell. "'Ee c'n smell a creature a league o' way, water o' no. 'N 'ee not leave 'em alive."

They climbed the steps and slipped through an archway to a narrow tunnel only wide enough for a single line. Up the tunnel the vermin went, squeezing their way through the rocks until they could walk three beasts a-breast again; the pathway continued twisting, continued turning, but ever rising upwards. When they were well into the rocks of the bay the way turned sharp to the left and then started its descent down into the rocks and stone. Down into the dark. Down towards the 'Gates.

"Welcome ta Clapsbay, ye mangy whelps!" Clune laughed over his shoulder at the new recruits, his voice ringing from off the dripping walls as he gestured about the ledges teaming with horde beasts, mercenaries and killers. Tattooed and filthy, they littered the outcrops and crags lining the path; their shadows from the torches stretching up high on the cavern's walls and giving the impression that they were of twice the number they were. Snarling, sneering, snaking, but ever present in the abyss.

At the bottom of the cavern, the group came to a large round doorway centered the wall, images of vermin carved into the stone around it; their paws either outstretched as if to pull victims in or holding their weapons out in front in a mock defence of a charge. Such was the entrance to the Great Hall of Clapsbay. Large columns of coiled snakes held the blackened doors on each side, their intertwining heads at the apex glaring down at the hellish ilk with seemingly glowing emerald-gem eyes positioned to look like they were always watching whatever creature happened to their doors, no matter where their stance may be.

The newcomers gawked at the sight before them. Many a time had they been rocked to sleep by their mothers to the great stories of the mighty vermin stronghold, but never did they imagine they would darken the doors. Many believed this doorway to be the 'Gates; and to most, it was. The Great Hall was as deep as most vermin went, but it was not the true entrance to Hellsgates. Those gates were deeper – much, much deeper.

"Serhan, Danik – make sure t' new fighters be given t'eir rites," Clune said sharply while he waved off the hordebeasts and sailors about their business. "We be feastin' me return t'night."

"More t'en just ye return," Clud grumbled under his breath and his twin brother snapped his head at the contempt tone. Clud curled his lip up in a jealous sneer. "Ye ain't seen Semira in neigh a season. She may 'ave some news fer ye."

Clune's yellow smile lit his face. "Ah, t'at's me mate."

"Ye c'n see 'er afta ye tell me 'bout t' meetin' at Irgash," Clud sniped as his brother strode past him into the Hall. "'Sides, she not be strayin' far from t' kitchens!"

* * *

Inside the Great Hall, a fortified fire pit centered the large chamber, arched tables and benches curved around it, coiling and twisting. At the head of the room was a dais with two large thrones carved out of the rock face; its back and arm rests adorn with claws and snake effigies. Many a great lord had sat upon the thrones. Lord of the Vermin. Lord of the 'Gates. Their very presence meant death, destruction and pain. No beast lived to suffer the wrath they evoked once the Lords of Clapsbay had been angered, once they had been challenged. No beast could withstand the will of the Fates.

Behind the platform a moulded wicker screen provided two exits: the left to the lord's chambers, the right to the kitchens, cellars and most importantly, a fresh water spring bubbling up in a shadowy corner of a cave. Flanking the interior of the entrance, rough stone steps had been chiselled out of the rock leading to the various caverns above the hall where hordebeasts had made their dormitories over the eras of occupation. The hall reeked of smoke, sweat and rotten fish bones and gull entrails, split arrack and grog. Torches burnt constantly in their sconces, ever blackening the air and casting shadows on the walls.

Out of the kitchen entrance a single ratmaid treaded her way around the dais and towards the entrance to the lord's chambers. She was a vain creature; lithe and confident. She had a light gray coloured coat and short tousled headfur which showed off the many piercings that looped her ears. Her dress made of black and green brocade, its collar high and train long. A wide sash was belted low on her waist, almost across her hips, and a heavy silver chain girdle rested above it as it fell in a single line of links down the center of her skirts. The dress was tight, but she wanted it cut that way. That way every beast could see it. Every beast would know what she was and what she was carrying. Deep inside her rested the future of the empire.

"La'hy Semira!" Mangerin called as he descended the steps from the upper caverns. "La'hy Semira, wait!"

"What is it now, gull-breath," Semira grumbled at him and rolled her eyes as the ferret trotted towards her with a long slender pole in his paws. Waiting until he was closer to her, she sneered at the rock slime on his shirt and cheeks before adding. "Well, Mangerin- did you get the air holes unplugged?"

"We workin' on 't, La'hy Semira," the ferret replied with a quick bow, careful to avert his gaze from her eyes. "Some just gots simple c'ogs, but others the rocks 'ave cav'd in…"

"Then uncave them!" Semira snapped turning back to proceed to the lord's chambers. "Unblock them and stop bothering me with useless details."

"Yes, La'hy Semira, but we can't," Mangerin said quickly. "Whys I'm speakin' t' ya; t' ask Lord Clune t' allow us tappin' new vents…"

"Is that necessary?" Semira asked suspiciously. The air holes of the Clap were countless eras old and strategically placed where beasts could not see them. She highly doubted Mangerin was clever enough to place the vents as concealed as the original ones were, not to mention tapping new ones would weaken the hidden fortress, something Clune would not approve of.

"Tis while milords wish t' house such o' large army down 'ere," Mangerin said matter-of-factly. "The more beasties, the more 'ir-"

"Yes, yes, I know!" Semira countered and waved the ferret off as she continued her walk towards the cavern. "I will inform Lord Clune of your findings and he and Lord Clud can decide what is to be done."

"Yes, La'hy Semira," Mangerin sighed and gave a slight bow out of respect. After all, Semira was Clune's mate and as far as vermin went, she was as deadly as she was beautiful. She always had a thin dagger up her sleeve and was lethally quick. She had little remorse for her actions and cared even less about creatures she thought beneath her. Clune had found her while patrolling their claimed islands in the Eastern Sea when they made port at an island which one of his captains called home. She had been one of his daughters and Clune had picked her out right away, bringing her to Clapsbay and taking her as mate. Finally, after four seasons of long campaigns both at paw and sail, Clune had been home long enough for Semira to conceive before leaving once more to rendezvous with the Western Sea corsairs for their homage.

Haughtily, Semira strode down the corridor to the lord's chambers. She had already shown herself to him and declared she was carrying his babe. Clune had been overjoyed at the curve to her belly and when his envious brother pressed him to discuss the proceedings of Irgash, Semira had taken the opportunity to slink off to the kitchens to oversee the preparing of Clune's homecoming feast and procure some victuals to sate her suddenly insatiable hunger.

Rounding the slight twist in the passage, Semira spied a lone ratmaid standing dutifully outside a pair of large blackened doors. She too wore a rich brocade dress, but of black fabric and deep red details. Her ebony coat was groomed to perfection and without the silver earrings studding her lobs, she could flawlessly blend into the darkest of shadows.

"Semira," she said in a surprisingly sweet tone for a vermin when she heard Semira approach. "Clune be waiting for you."

"I had to get something to eat," Semira sniped and laid a paw on the swell at her waist. She couldn't help but smile smugly when a slight flash of jealousy streaked across the other maid's eyes. "Why are you standing out here, Louhi?"

"They be discussing things," Louhi shrugged, still giving Semira a resentful glare. "You know how they like to keep their plans a secret."

Semira just nodded. She knew how the two brothers were. They would never divulge any sort of tactics to any beast, least of all them; though Clune had told her to come straight to him after she was done in the kitchens. He hadn't seen her for almost a season after all, and there were things, many things now, for them to discuss.

"It be growing?" Louhi said with a gesture to Semira's stomach. "The ratling be growing?"

"Every day," Semira said, raising her nose in a proud gesture. She knew it gorged Louhi that she was carrying before her, especially when Clud had claimed her as a mate a full season before Clune took her. It was highly whispered that she was barren and Semira could only hope it was true. If Louhi was unable to give Clud an heir it would make things easier for Clune if their ratling was the sole successor to the empire. It was complicated enough with both Clune and Clud being twins and sharing the lordship, but they were close and used their easily mistakable identities to their advantage. Semira highly doubted that cousins would be as apt to share the wealth and as Clune confided to her before he even knew she was carrying, he would not consent to dividing an empire his forebeasts had bled for to pacify Clud's future whelp. No, Semira sneered, the future of realm rested on her ratling alone.

Louhi opened her mouth to speak again, when the sound of a pitcher smashing against the wall echoed into the cavernous corridor followed by Clune's tremendous yell:

"W'at da ye mean, t'ey say Dracul be dead? 'Ho would be stupid 'nough ta kill a ruspic?"

* * *

"W'at da ye mean, t'ey say Dracul be dead?" Clune bellowed and hurled a pottered jug of arrack at the stone wall of the lords' presence chamber. Angrily, he leaned his fisted paws on the feasting table and eyed his brother with barely controllable aggression. "'Who would be stupid 'nough ta kill a ruspic?"

Clud sat comfortably at the high polished table, eating a meal of baked urchin, shrimp and poached cod. Every three or four mouthfuls, the rat would stop and take a swig of seaweed ale from his flagon, before ripping into his meal again, chewing open-mouthed and spitting out the bones onto the floor.

"Clud- answer me!" Clune growled and slammed his fist onto the table to gain his sibling's attention. "W'at t' ruspics say ta ye, w'en ye went fer council?"

"T'at t' red from t' west burned out t' shadows," he mumbled out and wiped spittle from his mouth. "T'at t'ey saw Dracul meet wit t' water. T' red eyes drowned 'im."

"Hellsgates!" Clune hollered. Dracul had spoken to him of a mouse with red eyes, of the seeing they had of a fore looming danger as they looked to expand their empire west. He had sent Cinereal and his crew to track down the outlawed Captain Talt as he failed to pay his homage to him at Irgash, but had also sent Dracul with them to see if he could find out more about his seeing, or better still, kill the threat before he truly became one.

Clune started to pace about the chamber. Pausing at the hearth between the two doors leading to their private chambers, Clune kicked another piece of dried driftwood onto the blaze. Their plans were sent in motion. They had a huge army now, larger than any force the Southern Armies could throw at them. Over the course of the summer season, they would see all of Southsward under vermin rule, under their rule. Once the southern mainland was captured, they planned to continue conquering west… west to the islands of fabled wealth only pirates could boast of.

"T' ruspics must be seein' somethin' comin'," he muttered and stared into the fire. "T'ere must be more in t'eir sight."

"Clune, ye put too much faith in t' beasts," Clud hissed. "T'ey be crazed…"

"T'ey be t' Fates' voice!" Clune snarled and wheeled on his brother. "T'ey be our guides- our lanterns through t' mists since t' beginning. T'ey showed our ancestors t' way ta t' Clap. 'Ere, t' make o' seat fer our kingdom- at t' very gates o'-"

"Ye be soundin' like Pater," Clud snickered and leaned back in his chair. "'Ee relied too much on t' ruspics 'n look w'ere it got 'im. Dead."

"Ye drown 'im t'at be why 'ee's dead," Clune said pointedly.

"_We_ drowned 'im," Clud winked and licked the saliva off his lips, tonguing at his lip piercing. "'Ee wouldn't give up 'is power ta us. We 'ad ta off 'im. 'N ye know somet'ing- no ruspic warned 'im o' t'at."

"T'ey still advised 'im ta many a'victory," Clune countered and stared at a small crevice in the corner. Just looking at it made the world seen to shrink around them and unnerving chills trickle down the spine of even the maddest of beasts who knew not what fear was in their demented minds. Looking back at his brother, Clune gestured towards the crack with his head.

"We need ta be findin' out w'at t'ey know 'bout t'is mouse."

Clud nodded and rose to his footpaws as a knock came from the door. With the click of the latch, two ratmaids appeared in the archway and stood to the side of the door. Clune grinned wickedly at the sight of Semira and beckoned her forward with his paw.

"Ye get enough ta eat?" he said in a soft tone, positioning her so Clud and Louhi alike could see the new curve of her figure. "Ye not still hungry, are ye?"

"Give me an hour," Semira said proudly, holding her head high as the other two rats look on in visible spite. "Are you done your meeting?"

"Fer now," Clud said abruptly and gave Louhi a push in the direction of his chamber.

"Clud- t' ruspics…" Clune called after him.

"If ye wan ta find out more o' t' mouse, t'en ye go ask t' cloaked ones!" Clud shot back and pulled at Louhi's dress strings as they walked towards his door. "I 'ave more impor'ant t'ings ta worry 'bout."

"He knows she's barren," Semira sneered once Clud slammed the door to his chamber, leaving her alone with Clune. "Surely, he knows his rutting is for nothing."

"'Ee be in denial," Clune chuckled and pulled her close. "'Sides, it doesn't mean 'ee can't enjoy tryin'."

Giving her a rough kiss, Clune pushed her away slightly and grabbed a torch from the wall sconce to light his way to the corner crack.

"Clune, where are you going?" Semira asked and placed a defensive paw over her stomach.

"To t' Ruspics," he called over his shoulder as he walked. "To t' 'Gates."

Semira shuddered as she watched him disappear into the darkness. Feeling an unsettling chill slink down her spine, the ratmaid turned on her heel and strode into Clune's private chamber. Once the door was closed, she was able to breathe properly and let out a violent shiver. Semira hated the corridor. She hated the chills and the horrid screams that emulated from the depths below when they were seeing. She hated the fact that Clune depended on them and most of all; Semira hated how she feared the darkness of the hell below her very footpaws.


	5. Chapter 3

**Thanks to Shadowed One 19 for reviewing the last chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Clune snaked his way along the narrow tunnels and short ledges of the depths below his chambers, below the His torch cut through the blackness, causing shadows to run from its light as if they were living. Hissing from behind the stalagmites and hanging from the stalactites, they threatened, taken shape of the intruder's deepest fears and breathing out sulphur fumes to poison the air against their entry. The way to the 'gates was a fearful journey for even the bravest or foolish of creatures, but Clune wasn't afraid. He knew how to pass the shadows. His father had told him.

_Look at everything and nothing,_ the former ratlord told him. _Look straight ahead and let your eyes blur the shadows - don't blink the blur away. Breathe lightly and don't look back. To look back is to show fear. If you show fear- the shadows will consume you._

So onwards Clune pressed, breathing lightly, barely breathing, never blinking, into the abyss.

It was said the caverns were cut into the rocks by large serpents from the dawning days when the Fates needed a pathway for dead beasts to travel to Hellsgates. It was said for a living creature to descend to the 'gates took seasons off their natural life, but Clune had never found it to be true. He and Clud had been accompanying his father to the depths of the cavern since they were barely old enough to snarl and there was no end to his life in sight. It was just a fable used to keep others out. That is of course if their fears didn't consume them and the shadows ate their flesh.

At the bottom was a large pool of black water, completely still, completely unmoving in the depths of the chasm. It reflected the pyrite illuminating from the ceiling in the torchlight, casting the appearance of a thousand stars shining in a peaceful night sky. But it was anything but peaceful, anything but stars given to the creatures above by the Seasons. No, the pyrite was a torture of the Fates for many creatures as this was the last of the peaceful world they once knew.

With a smug smile, Clune stepped into the water and strode across to the other side. The water was only up to his ankles, and though its acidic base burned his skin slightly, it didn't do him much harm. It was the stupid beasts that would try to walk around the water edge thinking the center was deep that would be harmed. They would no doubt find the ledge that led around the outside with its razor-sharp rocks that would slice their footpaws and make them jump into the shallow water, tripping in pain and splashing the liquid on their face. The acid would blind them and weaken them with agony, making it easy for the shadows to devour them.

When he was at the other side, Clune shook the water from his footpaws and turned to a small crevice to his right. Squeezing his way through the crack, he came to a chamber cut into the rock face. Before him was a giant archway loomed, plain and dark. Black liquid seeped from between the slabs of stone like a noxious infection being squeezed from a wound, its smell purulent and harsh. The torch dimmed, its flame taking on a greenish hue in the darkness. The air was heavy, as if barely there at all.

"Hir minir centmi kin ni," Clune chanted into the vastness. "Mi funa kin Lord Clune mi ris!"

The cavern breathed, wind rushing from the space below, blowing out the torch and leaving the ratlord in the darkness.

"Hir minir centmi kin ni," Clune repeated, louder and with more threat. Fear was what it wanted, courage is what it got. "Mi funa kin Lord Clune mi ris!"

A slither, a waver, a tremor on the air, like the coils of a snake it encircled the rat; constricting the space around him. His ears began to ring.

"Hir minir centmi kin ni!" Clune snarled and bared his teeth against the sensation. "Mi funa kin Lord Clune mi ris!"

The noise increased greater and greater until it was no longer a steady ring, but screams. Generations of creatures screaming, wailing, shrieking in pain, torture, agony. It bore through his brain, stabbing him, trying to get him to take a deep breath of the poisonous fumes wafting around him. Louder, louder, louder …

"Hir minir centmi kin ni!" Clune bellowed in the darkness. "Mi funa kin Lord Clune mi ris!"

The ringing ceased, the air lightened and receded away. Once more his torch flamed up in his paw as it bathed the chamber with a yellow glow. Around him, black banners lined the walls, their runic symbols lost to the knowledge of the living long ago, and a brazier centered the space between two cushioned benches.

"Lord Clune," a shadow leered from the sideboard where it poured a goblet of thread from a spoil revolving in the air above the narrow table. "You know there's no need to shout. We heard you the first time."

"If ye heard me t' first time, why'd ye not answer when I called ye?" the ratlord wheezed. His lungs screamed for real air - good, clean air, but he had to resist taking deep breathes. This was their world; he could not breathe properly here.

The shadow did not respond the question, but settled itself on the red velvet of the bench opposite Clune.

"You have had a long travel, you should sit."

He should his head. "I need answers – why is Dracul dead? Who is t'is red-eyed mouse ye lot 'ave seen? What does it mean fer Clapsbay?"

A thin white line of teeth broke the darkness of the shadow. Slowly, it widened into a grin, and then a smile.

"That is a lot of questions, my lord," it spoke. "When one has come empty pawed."

"I'll send a beast down later fer ye t' pick at 'is bones," Clune gasped, holding his throat against the burn. "Damn yer eyes, Kohl! Tell me what I needs t'know!"

It rose from its seat, twisting its limps into motion towards the brazier. Holding up the goblet, it plucked the strings from the vessel with bloodied claws and dropped them one by one into the flames. Clune grimaced at the screeches it caused as the threads burned. Somewhere, creatures were dying.

"I don't suppose one o' 'em was ta beast wit ta red-eyes?" he sneered.

"No."

A writhed arm stretched forth from the shadow, from the cloak beneath the darkness; its fur singed and flesh gnarled with scars. A hooked claw came forth and dragged along the limb, carving a furrow of blood in its skin. The shadow growled and sighed, breathing heavy as the drops fell onto the flames.

"Kohl gives blood for the sight, oh Fates," it muttered, watching the flames turn red and then white. "Fates betold the sights beheld."

* * *

The Council Chamber of Palace Vasilis was a filled with every high ranking noble and military commander the Kingdom of Eutrusia held. Extra chairs had been squeezed around the room's stone table in attempt to accommodate the overflow, but still creatures were standing en masse about the area. A constant hum of whispers vibrated the air and dread pressed down upon the pageantry of coloured silks and regalia medals glinting in the candlelight. It had been nearly a week since the prince's disappearance and all searches for the royal had been fruitless. It was as if Prince Aesir had vanished into thin air.

There was a click of the door latch and each beast present turned as the herald's staff rapped twice on the floor.

"His Majesty the King!"

The footbeasts pulled open the double doors and Matthias strode into the chamber with an entourage of chancellors and advisers all but trotting to keep up with the king's purposeful strides. Chair legs scratched along the floor and muffled curses from creatures with stepped on footpaws laced the air as the gathering attempted to give reverence to their sovereign.

"Don't worry about that," Matthias snapped at all of them. "You'll take more time getting settled again than I care to waste."

Reaching the head of the table, the king gave a hard flick of his wrist in silent command to remove the gilded chair and leaned his fisted paws upon the stone to loom over the depicted kingdom.

"Well?" he said sternly, eyeing them all with particular scrutiny. "Is there any word of my son?"

A few nervous coughs were the only answers he received. Matthias narrowed his gaze.

"Very well, then." Reaching out with his paw, the king crooked two claws towards his palm and a page scurried forward with a box containing replicas markers. "We move onto another plan."

Creatures shuffled in, trying to get a better view of the king's strategy while he selected the demonstration pieces with care. Once the wooden army was laid out on the surface before him, Matthias glanced at the blank faces encircling the table. For a moment he could hear their thoughts: _This is all for naught, the prince is gone, the coward ran away… why haven't they served the wine._ Setting his jaw, Matthias looked down at the carvings over the table and placed a crowned rook over the star-etched capital of Seldor, Aurelius.

"Here we all are now," Matthias stated. "This is the last place Prince Aesir was seen." Looking up, the king locked eyes with the beast opposite him. The stalwart gaze of Lieutenant Klein held the king's stare as he sat at the foot of the table; overlooking the state of Nilhand.

"Lieutenant Klein, you will take the Royal Barge up the Eu to Nilhand," Matthias proclaimed and placed the tiny boat on the depicted river. Using a paddle, the king pushed the piece up into the state's territory. "Find out if they have seen or heard from the prince."

The lieutenant nodded. "Yes, Majesty."

"Lieutenant Olan, I wish you to oversee a small fleet along the southern coast and to the east," Matthias continued and placed the markers down as well. "You will search the sea, and Baron Ulran," he paused as grumbles floated around the table. Raising his paw to silence them, Matthias turned his attention to the humble noble sitting to his right. "Baron Ulran," the king repeated, "will leave immediately for Eurus and conduct the search by land."

More grumbled protests arose. Ulran sat quietly through the whispered insults; their lack of faith in him was nothing he hadn't experienced before, nor something he didn't expect thanks to Ulrick's meddling. The baron would have to rebuild his reputation again, as he had after his father's exploits in the Uprising of Eurus; again proving himself to be a loyal servant of the crown and guiltless to the assumed affiliations of treason.

The king countered the concerns with a signal statement. "The Baroness Dellia will remain at Palace Vasilis to ensure the baron's good behaviour and _personal_ dedication to _this_ task."

"If Prince Aesir is in Eurus, I will find him and bring him back to court, sire," Ulran affirmed. Holding the king's eye, he added in a softer tone, "You can trust in that, Your Majesty."

Matthias tipped his head and continued to place his players about the board. "Baron Trysten, Lieutenant Evrol- you will both perform the same tasks in Wesrus; Barons Elrad and Falcor will continue the search here in Seldor- Lieutenant Malax will assist you."

They all acknowledged their counterparts, slow knowing blinks mimicking the motion of a nod and the barons carefully took in the positions about the map, listening to the whispers of their personal advisors while the lieutenants mentally calculated their own courses of action. Still, Matthias continued to take wooden ships from the box, placing them around the circumference of the island.

"The full fleet of Eutrusia is to be deployed," the king announced. "Every vessel bearing my standard will be on orders to sail our waters and intercept and search any and all ships."

"Is the fleet prepared for such an expanded search, Your Majesty?" a minor lord from Wesrus' midlands asked. "Many ships were damaged in the storm."

Matthias turned to his left and all eyes of the room settled on Eutrusia's Fleet Admiral. Daelahn leaned forward and boldly rapped a claw on the arm of his chair. "The dockyarders have worked day 'n night t' repair the ships," he confirmed. "They are provisioned, crewed 'n ready t' make sail."

The confidence in his statement spurred some faith into the males and several fists rained down upon the stone while reluctant ayes rumbled the air. The king held up his paws to regain order over the room; speaking over the trepidation, he added, "To all others I ask you return to your estates and conduct your own private explorations amongst your tenants. Any news of the prince, anything at all, must be immediately brought to the crown's attention.

"And my advisors and chancellors - I ask that you stay in the capital to assist in the running of the kingdom with the Queen Regent."

An instant hush blanketed the chamber like a frost; freezing their puzzled faces and exhaling any words forming on their tongues with a low whistle. Only three beasts seemed unaffected by the statement: Lieutenant Condor, Admiral Daelahn and the king himself.

Clearing his throat, Lord Naveen tilted his head to the side. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he said cautiously. "These old ears of mine do not hear as well as they used to. Did you say _Queen Regent?"_

"I did. Queen Valina will be acting as Regent of Eutrusia."

"Begging your pardon, sire," Naveen tried again, "but regency is not necessary while you are in your kingdom."

"Perhaps I won't be in my kingdom, then." Every creature drew a sharp intake of breath, breaking from their statued state to gape at one another. What was their king talking about?

At Matthias' nod, Daelahn rose from his chair and took the offered scroll from his ensign who scampered forward from his place by the wall.

"On the night of the prince's disappearance, a number o' passenger ships were given clearance t' leave port," he began as he unrolled the parchment. "Here is a list of them and their headings." Murmurs circulated around the table, but the admiral persisted. "If by some miracle Prince Aesir did stow away from Eutrusia, he would have done so on one o' these ships."

"And you're going to what – chase them all down?" Naveen pondered aloud. Looking hard at the king, he said, "That could take _seasons,_ sire and –"

"Which is the one you'll follow?" Ulran's voice sounded over the dim. Eyeing the king suspiciously as the sovereign sat back on his chair, the baron pressed, "You've decided on one that was the most likely boarded, I take it."

"Yes," Daelahn answered in Matthias' silence. "This one," he informed the council by pointing to a single name. "_The Waverun._ Small ship, foreign, wouldn't know the prince to stumble on him and …" he spared a glance at the king before continuing, "… headed west – away from trouble."

Objections poured in from all around the Council Chamber, yet still the king was unmoved. "An western course is where I, Lieutenant Condor and Admiral Daelahn are bound," Matthias furthered. _"Mawredd_ will be sailing at first light tomorrow."

"The passenger vessel was heavily laden with provisions and beasts," Daelahn interrupted. "_Mawredd_ can easily catch up with it despite their head start."

"I must protest, Your Majesty," Baron Elrad barked. "You are Eutrusia's King - you must not be reckless with your life."

"I must agree with His Grace, sire," Naveen confirmed. "You should leave the search from Prince Aesir to the others – it is not the duty of a king."

"I may be a king, but I am a father first!" Matthias shouted and thumped his paws down hard on the table, upsetting some of the markers. Emotions wrinkled his features and husked his voice as he continued, "My only son is missing, I… I must find my son!"

Composing himself, Matthias let out a shaky breath and held his paw up to massage his temple and forehead. "My apologies, my lords, but I cannot sit by idly in this. I must take an active role in finding Prince Aesir. Admiral Daelahn and I have discussed this at length, as have I with Lieutenant Condor. We will be well armed and _Mawredd _is the fastest ship in the Western Sea. We will be quite safe."

Talk resumed and soon the Council Chamber was alive with chatter again as beasts conversed and planed. Klein sat stone-faced at the table, looking over the vast expanse of mountains and valleys he would have to search in his region. Seeing his friend's grim expression, Olan leaned over and mumbled from the corner of his mouth, "Seems like you'll be waiting a little longer to become a steward, Klein."

"I'm not worried about that," he said. "Other things are a little more important right now."

"Yeah, like how you're going to search all those nooks and crannies of the north," the squirrel snorted. "I'll write my family- they'll be able to help you. If one thing we know its every possible hiding place in those mountains."

"Well, that would be a start," Klein scoffed and shifted his vision to the Matthias as he reread the discharge papers from the admiral. "He looks stressed."

Olan snickered, "Of course he's stressed! The future of our kingdom is hanging in the balance- and now because the prince got spooked by some ill-fortune, our Etifedd is gone!"

"Away," the mouse lieutenant corrected. "Don't use the word gone- it's too final. The prince is away right now; but he'll come back."

"Changing a word won't change the facts," Olan snipped. "The prince is off somewhere being a coward or a hero - only time will tell the truth of that tale - and now our ruddy king is taking it upon himself to find him"

"He just wants to find his son," Klein sighed. "Think of what you would be like if one of yours went missing."

Olan thought about it for a moment. Skewing his face slightly, he pondered, "It would depend on which hellion we're talking about."

"I would be a wreck if it were Rayley," Klein said, ignoring his friend's attempt at a jest. "I couldn't imagine somebeast telling me my son was missing."

"Better that than flat out dead."

"I'm not so sure," Klein mumbled under his breath. "At least in death you know. You can mourn and somehow move on, but for them to be missing … it would be like being eaten alive from the inside out every day."

Olan crooked his face into an awkward grin. "Just full of happy thoughts today, aren't you Klein?"

"Let's just find the prince and bring him home." Without another word to his friend, Klein leaned forward over the map, ending the conversation between them. He had a horrible filling welling in the pit of his stomach and the sour taste of bile begun to burn in his throat. There was something too familiar about the pain in the king's eyes; the lieutenant couldn't quite put a claw on the feeling, but whatever it was sent a slow trickle of dread dripping down his spine.

* * *

The bells were tolling midday by the time the meeting had dispersed and Matthias was left alone in the Council Chambers. The king sat in his chair, his forehead rested on his palm while he leaned on the armrest making the conscious effort to keep breathing.

_In. Out. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out._ It was a motion that was automatic to even the newest born infant, yet to him, if he did not think about it, he stopped the exercise all together. On more than one occasion he had caught himself forgetting to draw breath and had to force himself to initiate the instinct. He barely slept, hardly ate and the only thing that kept him going was the notion this was all a bad dream, a nightmare and eventually he would awake and everything would be as it was before. Only he would be different. He would not take him for granted again.

Matthias let out a shuddering sigh and rose with the vigour of an ancient from the throne to view the windows looking out over the central courtyard. He could see the servants still trying to scrub the blackened marks from the fountain's white marble, but it wasn't what he was truly seeing. In his mind, the king watched a younger Valina walking carefully across the cobbles to greet him, one paw stretched out to him and the other resting on her large belly.

He looked back to the entrance and envisioned a herald once again bursting through the doorway to tell him the queen was in labour. His heart had stopped then and didn't beat correctly for two whole days when finally, his mother emerged from the queen's chambers - her head held high and proud - and announced Eutrusia had a new prince.

"My little princeling," Matthias whispered to the silence and held his palms out before him. Still, he could feel the softness of the mouseling robes, the weight of his son in his paws. He could hear in infant's babble, smell his scent, and feel the swell of pride that filled the king's chest.

"A father first and a king second," he reiterated his bluster from the council meeting. Flopping his paws against his sides in defeat, he muttered, "I was in those days."

Matthias resumed his peruse of the chamber, looking at every trinket and piece of furniture; drinking in the memories they had absorbed of the prince over the seasons. The small dent in a golden vase where Aesir had accidently knocked off the sideboard. The cabinet drawer Matthias had pulled out and used as a cradle for him, when Valina left their son alone with him for the first time and an emergency council had been called. He could have ordered a nursemaid to take him, but Valina had specifically instructed him not to let Aesir out of his sight – so, being the young father he was, Matthias had brought the prince along with him. The drawer had been Ulran's jest, that proved to be a brilliant, and much joked about, invention that circulated the court for a good two seasons.

The king smiled at the memory and clasped his paws behind his back while he walked; becoming aware his steps, his grin broadened and he gave his tail a little flick. There had been a time when he couldn't perform that action without a steady tug on his tail and a boisterous giggle in response. For a whole season Aesir followed in his shadow, holding onto Matthias' tail for balance while he learned to walk until one day, Aesir let go.

A light knock on the doorway interrupted the sovereign's thoughts and Matthias turned to see Valina let herself into the chambers.

"They told me you were still here," she said, her voice a bare whisper, but seemed to echo in the void. "None of them have any news," she deduced with a quick glance at the stone table littered with figurines. "No word on Aesir."

"No."

Valina nodded, the pale light glinting off her crown. "The prophets can't see anything of him either," she related, walking towards her husband and standing before him. "I went to see them this morning – Celton was even scrying when I was there, Davos reading the smoke. They could see nothing of our little prince, only odd things that didn't make sense!" Valina's speech trembled with frustration, her paws balled into fists at her sides.

"Who cares about some mouse with a cane wandering a desert?" she raged against their uselessness. "Or a bunch of craggy old caves?" Tears broke over the brims of her eyes in waves. "Curses, they even saw some red stone building rising up out of water and trees, but nothing of our son!"

Matthias wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight. She shook in his embrace and let her tears come, soaking the fabric of his tunic with their pitiful warmth.

"He'll come back, Vali," Matthias soothed, kissing the top of her ebony headfur and resting his cheek in its softness. "I'll bring him back."

His words settled her breathing and she ebbed her sobs. She couldn't despair. She had to keep faith for him, for Cerys, for their kingdom, even for herself. She had to believe Aesir would return to Eutrusia. Return home.

* * *

The sea was a peaceful ream of blue satin, sparkling in the light of the sun radiating from high in the cloudless sky. From the west, a soft zephyr swirled about the air; curling, rising and falling with the updrafts as it painted an invisible picture with the brine of the ocean. Up the breeze twisted, then down to skim the water- racing the currents and waves. Together they raced across the aquatic savannah, pushing each other to their limits before the wind whipped upwards again; rising above the wooden wall before it as the water crashed into the ship's hull with an explosion of droplets raining up into the sky.

The zephyr twisted around the planks, curling through the railings, over the quarter deck and between the vanes of the feathers pluming the captain's hat as he shouted orders to the crew. With a wave of his webbed paw, the sea otter dismissed the wind tickling his nose and the breeze continued upwards; circling the sailors as they went about their tasks, whirling around the lines and pulleys, dancing amid the masts, before puffing into the canvas. Billowing the white sails out to stretch against their ropes, the zephyr pushed the ship forward over the water; again renewing the race with the water below.

"Hoist t' top gallant 'n trim t' staysail!" the captain bellowed from the railing overlooking the main deck. Looking up at the canvas, the sea otter added, "two pulls ta starboard, Mister Gere- keep that wind in 'er sails."

"Aye, cap'n," the squirrel proclaimed and rolled the helm of the vessel around twice. "Two pulls to starboard, sir!"

Around them, the crew clamoured up the riggings and heaved on the lines, carrying out their commander's orders with speed and precision. With an approving nod, the captain turned back to the bench behind him where a plump mouse sat smoking his pipe and enjoying the rays of sunlight flittering through the organized chaos of sails, masts and rope above him.

"I still don't trust 'im," Arvad murmured from his languid seat on a pile of crates shoved up to the rail. Taking the pipe from his mouth, the old otter stabbed the end towards a dark cloaked mouse meandering about the main deck. "Too quiet."

"So, he don't like t' talk, big deal!" the captain chortled and slapped a paw on the banister. "We gots enough talkers at it tis!"

Arvad ignored the jest. "Still ain't right."

"Yar jus' spooked by 'im, that's all."

"And y' ain't?" Arvad retorted and rolled his eyes at the captain. Behind the sea otter, Gere swallowed a large lump in his throat and wriggle his head like a worm on a hook; a gesture Arvad caught right away. "He's got t' whole crew makin' signs and mutterin' prayers we don't go down a' night."

The captain shrugged. "Suppose it's hard t' get scared with a full coin purse. Which reminds me," he said, handing Arvad a map from the chart barrel and some navigational tools. "We needa new course laid for when we hit Southsward."

"What?" Arvad snorted and snatched the items up. "Why?"

"We need t' make berth somewhere," the captain paused, looking down at the stranger before patting the pouch at his side to the jingle of new gold coins, "somewhere, less public."


	6. Chapter 4

**My thanks to Shadowed One 19 and MrDill for reviewing the last chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Rays of golden sun beamed through the tree branches and newly budding leaves, playing their warm yellow and gold hues on the thatched roofs of the sleepy river town. Tucked away in a forest meadow beside the River Karth and a half day's hard walk from any established road, the village of Linacre was hidden except to those who knew where to find it; it was small, thriving in its own rural Southswardian way, but in no means was it dull.

_"Aurora!"_

The loud voice thundered through the open windows of a humble cottage; its deep tone echoing off the surrounding homes and trees, causing each stirring creature to smirk at the familiar call while they went about their morning duties.

_"Aurora, you get back here right now-"_

Children giggled and males chortled as they continued chopping wood or gathering tools for the day's work ahead of them. A gaggle of wives grouped together at the village circle, ready to go to the river with hampers of washing, and at the second shout one held up her paw, knowingly counted down on her claws; four, three, two, one…

_Slam._

A cottage door bounced off the frame of the entryway, its latch and hinges clicking and clanking in protest at the violent closing before ricocheting back inwards into the home. Its escapee, a slender mousemaid in a green woollen dress and brown archer's hood, dashed onto the paths between the homesteads towards the trees. A quiver of arrows flapped against her back with her gait, a long bow in one paw and a fistful of her dress skirts in the other to ease her flight.

"Aurora, get back here right now!" the voice ordered again and a stern looking mouse appeared in the doorway wagging a paw in the air. "Do you hear me? Get your tail back here! _NOW!"_

Seeing her slip out of sight around a corner of mudbrick, the mouse gave a snort of frustration and crossed his arms over his chest to lean on the wooden doorframe.

"Aurora be givin' ya a hassle again, Luke?" a cheerful looking mouse exclaimed as he thrust a hammer into his belt and picked up a bundle of twined thatch to rest on his shoulder. "Bit early for a squabble, ain't it?"

"For most, yes," Luke replied and unconsciously pawed at an old battle scar on his forearm; thin black line running from his elbow to wrist. "But my daughter seems to run on her own schedule."

"That she do! What be gettin' her tail all bunched up this morning?"

"I told her stop running off into the woods on her own," Luke grumbled. "Now that its spring, the vermin will begin roving more." A single syllable of laughter in reply demanded a further answer. "That, and I may have mentioned the idea of going to Hersford with me to meet a few young mice- a few tradebeasts."

"Mayhap, she not be wantin' t' meet a tradebeast."

"Heran, I'm not letting her marry a legionnaire," Luke said firmly. "Even you betrothed your daughter to male in trade. Jonalin's a mighty fine smith and Ellerie'll be set for life without a worry about coin or security…"

"Aye, but Ellerie be a different maid than Aurora," Heran laughed. "Ellerie be content with the idea of settlin' down with marriage in three seasons, an' by t' looks o' her trottin', Aurora not be warm to the idea."

"About as warm as the river after a frost," Luke scoffed. "She is the most difficult maid in all of Southsward- maybe even the entire mainland!"

"Ya know," Heran said carefully and nodded across to a bunch of males jesting and shouldering rakes and hoes; one was staring off in the direction Aurora had sprinted off in. "Regan be takin' a shine t' Aurora. He be a legionnaire, but he be makin' it plain he likes her-"

"No, Heran." Luke shifted on his footpaws and scratched his greying chin. "I already told Regan no, and if I need to tell him again I will. He is just looking at a pretty face and not seeing the fire in her eyes.

"Regan wants a wife to make a home for him," he continued, "Aurora wants a male to stand beside, not behind. They are two totally different beasts and would only end up fighting."

"An' ya not be thinkin' a tradebeast will want her to make a home for them?" Heran snorted.

"I'm hoping the sound of a jingling coin pouch dangling from her belt will change her mind. She's old enough to marry and I want to see she's settled before the Dark Forest calls my name – I want to know she is taking care of before I'm gone."

"Aurora be one maid I'd never be worryin' about, Luke. Ya raised a strong daughter there. She be more than capable of handlin' herself- don't be stressin' yar head about her.

"Well, I be off t' help Florin thatch the roof on that new cottage o' his," Heran chuckled and looked about the village. "Ya be seein' his tail 'round here this morning?"

"Not a sign of him. Perhaps he's off wooing Larsa."

"Naw- she be with the ol' wifer an' t' rest o' the maidens traipsin' down t' do the washing. Ah, well. Best get started without him."

"Best get started, indeed," Luke mused and waved the jolly mouse off. Turning back to the path his daughter ran up, he let out a long sigh. "Aurora, you're the most difficult maid in all of Southsward," he muttered under his breath. "What am I going to do with you?"

* * *

_Thwock._

The arrow quivered for a moment in the tree branch hanging over a babbling river. The shaft stilled its vibration, but the fletch fluttered slightly in the brisk spring breeze beside the other darts stuck into the wooden target. The archer reached over its right shoulder to take another arrow out of its quiver, notching it to the bow string and taking aim again. The shooter's expression was hidden by its pulled up hood, but its concentration evident in stance and movement. In one fluid motion, the archer pulled the fletch back to its cheek, releasing the hold on the twine and letting its string paw jerk back to a covered ear. The arrow sped through the air and landed itself deep in the wood beside the last shot.

_Thwock._

Four more arrows sped across the space between stand and target before the bow wielder huffed in frustration and slumped down on the rocky streambed, her skirts billowing out around her in the sudden drop.

Tossing her bow to the side, the mousemaid tipped her head back for the hood to slip off her ears, exposing her face and tousled headfur wound into a thick twist down her back. Bits of light coloured tresses fuzzed around her face where they had escaped the weave and her chestnut coloured eyes were hard with determination.

"He just doesn't understand!" she muttered and wrung her leather guard about her wrist. "Why will he not just understand that's not what I want?"

A twig snapped behind her and the mousemaid snatched up her bow and spun up to her footpaws to take aim at the sound.

"Then what do you want?" a mouse grinned at her with his paws in the air to show his defenselessness. "What do you want Aurora, because it would sure save Uncle Luke a whole lot of gray fur if you would just tell him!"

"Oh, Florin- you know better than to sneak up on me!" she chided him and lowered her arrow, slacking her tension on the bowstring. "How long were you there?"

"Long enough to hear you prattle on about not understanding," Florin snickered and strode onto the riverbed with all the confidence of his eighteen seasons. Adjusting his satchel strap over his plain maroon tunic and grey cloak, he added, "Havin' problems with your da again?"

"He's not listening to me!" Aurora exclaimed and sulked back onto her bottom. Hugging her legs to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. "He just wants to wed me off. He doesn't care if I'd be happy or not…"

"If Uncle Luke thought that, he would have let Regan have you when he asked," Florin said plainly and sat down beside her. "He does care, Aurora. Don't think he doesn't."

"I know," she relented. "But I'm not ready for marriage. There's too much I want to do with my life."

"Like what?"

"Well, I-" she started and paused. "You see, there's… What I mean is I want to… Oh- I'm just not ready alright!"

Her cousin just laughed at her. "If only you were as accurate with your mind as you were with your arrows!"

"My mind is accurate!" Aurora snapped and shoved him onto his elbows. "It's my heart that doesn't know what it wants."

"I suppose so," Florin said with a playful flick to her ear. "Uncle Luke said you can't use both at the same time- either your heart is working or your head. A feeling heart will make you braver than most, but a thinking mind will see you through the battle."

Laughing at his own joke, he added, "Guess when your aim goes for tripe, we'll know your heart has started working!"

"Oh, hush-up." Aurora rolled her eyes at him before nodding to the satchel slung across the mouse's upper body. "What have you been up to this morning?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied and bit his lip against the smile threatening to erupt on his face.

"Uh huh, I know that 'oh, nothing,'" Aurora giggled. "Florin, what have you gotten into?"

The mouse sat up and looked about the trees as if checking the coast was clear. "Aurora, can you keep a secret?" he whispered.

"Yes," she whispered back and held in a laugh. "But why are we whispering- there's no beast around."

"I was up before dawn waiting by the road for a peddler to pass by," he said in a low voice. Fumbling with his satchel ties, Florin pulled out a raw cut purple crystal tied on a leather string. "I didn't have much coin, only the few bits I earned by helping the lumberers cut those trees down for Constillion's nobles this winter, but it's still alright, I guess."

"What is it?"

"It's an amethyst," he said with a smile and held it up to catch sun, speckling the area with violet spots of light. "It's a fighter's amulet really- to keep a beast safe in combat, but I think Larsa will like it. I remember her saying purple was her favourite colour."

"It's a nice gift, Florin," Aurora said as she leaned forward and skewed her nose up to admire at the necklace. "But if its fighter's amulet, shouldn't you keep it for yourself? You'll be joining the Southern Armies with the spring's recruitment – it won't be long, you know."

"I know," Florin exhaled. "The peddler said he heard the generals convened a month ago and trials have already been held at Constillion and Carminack. Soon they'll be marching up into the villages with a call to arms.

"That's why I need to give it to Larsa." Florin brought the pendant down to hold in both his paws. "I need to have my heart settled so I can think with my head before I march off with the other legionnaires in the call-up. I- I need a clear mind to fight my way back to her." Taking a deep sigh, Florin looked Aurora in the eyes. "I'm going to ask Larsa to marry me. I'm going to give this necklace to her as an engagement gift- if she'll have me."

"O-oh," Aurora stuttered, not fully knowing what to say. Florin gave her a pleading look. "Oh, Florin- don't take my reaction to heart. I think it's wonderful. Really. Um, have you asked Torrance yet?"

"No," he sighed. "I was going to this morning- I mean, I am going there this morning. I'll ask Torrance for his daughter's paw and then I was going to propose to her tonight."

Aurora was silent.

"W-what?" he stammered out, nerves suddenly twisting his tongue. "Do you know something I don't? Aurora, you're friends with her- do you think she'll say no? Maybe she doesn't feel the same way for me that I do for her…"

"No, no, Florin, it's clear she favours you above others," Aurora asserted and got to her footpaws to take up her archery again.

"But…" Florin drawled out as she took up her stance. "Aurora, if you know something, please tell me before I make a fool of myself."

Pulling the string taunt, Aurora paused her aim and sighed. Slacking it off, she turned her attention back to Florin. "I don't doubt Larsa wants to be yours Florin, but don't be surprised if Torrance says no. You are just a legionnaire, or soon will be. You depend on fighting to earn a living and it is… well, the army isn't easy. Even if you survive the battles, the pension isn't much. It's a hard go."

"I know that," he breathed. "But I'm not a tradebeast, Aurora. I've never wanted to be anything but a fighter. Jonalin was always at my father's heels learning to be a blacksmith, while I clung to your father. I used to think he was the greatest of beasts striding off bravely to battle with that big axe of his. And even when he returned all cut up and bruised, I listened to the stories and was proud to call him my uncle; my mother said he was the bravest of the brave. I know it was tough for you guys sometimes, but -"

"Florin, Father had to borrow coin from your father many times to be able to feed me!" Aurora blushed. "And it was embarrassing for him to bring me around for meals when we didn't have anything left in the cottage to eat."

"You are family, Aurora," Florin said softly. "Our mothers were sisters. Families help each other out when things are rough."

"Rough!" Aurora laughed. "We have prime examples of how rough that can be, don't we?"

At that Florin pierced his lips and stared into the flowing waters. "So because I chose to stand for my country, I don't deserve to be happy? I don't deserve to have a love and marry?"

"I didn't say that," Aurora corrected herself. "It's just that it will be hard and Torrance knows it. He may not let his daughter go for such a life."

"He may not," Florin agreed and rose to his footpaws. "But I have to try. I know I will make Larsa happy and whatever I can't afford to give her in goods I will make up for it in love. This may not be one of those sparkly red rocks or clear white ones the noble ladies wear," he said holding up the hewn purple crystal again. "But it was bought with love and as long as there's love, we will be happy together."

"Well, if you're happy, I'm happy for you- for both of you," Aurora said with a warm smile. "At least you getting married may take the pressure off me for a little bit."

"Maybe," Florin chortled as she took aim again. "Who knows- maybe you'll meet your future husband at my wedding!"

"Ugh!" Aurora scoffed and released the string from her fingers. The bow twanged against the sudden loss of tension as the arrow whistled away from them and sunk itself deep in the bough. Whirling back at her cousin, Aurora rolled her eyes. "You sound like a silly old hogwife. Why do you all think that I need to get married and settle down?"

"Because you're seventeen seasons old and before long, you'll be considered an old maid!"

Giving an exaggerated gasp, Aurora strode over to him and flipped his cloak over his head. "Take that back, Florin! I am not an old maid!"

"Will not!" he called. "At least tell Uncle Luke what it is you want in male so he can look for it. You may want your independence now Aurora, but the day may come when you will be happy for a pair of strong paws to hold you up. One day you may want to be with someone and share a life together."

"Maybe one day," she mused. "But I'm not settling for any beast less than my heart's desire."

"And who might that be?"

"I don't know," Aurora laughed and started to walk back on the path leading to the village. "I haven't met him yet."

"Then how are we supposed to look for him?"

"We don't," she said plainly, taking the lead down the worn trail. "My heart will tell us when it knows him."

Florin shook his head. "And how is your heart supposed to tell us?"

"It will show us- when my shot goes for tripe!"

* * *

The dory rowed ashore while the merchant ship bobbed at anchor in the quay. Eleven creatures sat between eight otters wielding the oars, fidgeting with excitement and relief to be off the vessel and almost to land. The twelfth traveller, however, sat at the rear of the boat; silent and unapproachable. Beneath his dark cloak, the mouse had his fingers woven together across his chest as he leaned against the stern, his elbows resting on the trim.

"E'ery beast jus' stay seated until we beach," the senior sailor named Arvad barked from the stem when a couple of the enthusiastic beasts half rose from their planked seats. With one footpaw on the bow and arms folded high over his chest, the aging otter twisted around to face the group. "We stayed dry this long – let's keep it that way."

They obliged. Sitting down and straight-backed as if afraid even the act of breathing would upset the boat – especially the squirrels. The old salt chuckled lightly as he observed them bristling their tails and keeping only their clawtips on the bottom of the hull; although, his brief merriment faltered when he glanced upon the twelfth passenger. He had an uneasy feeling about the mouse from the moment he laid a footpaw on the ramp to board, but the captain had been too blinded by the trinket used as voyage payment to worry about the creature they were bringing on board. The solid gold bracelet was worth more coin than their ship and one could only assume from its feminine scrolling and diamond details, the mouse with his cloak pulled down over his eyes was some sort of thief or assassin making a getaway. However, throughout the entire journey, the mouse had been as he was then; wordless, faceless… nameless.

The dory cut through the final wakes and furrowed its keel into the wet sand. The rowers put up their oars while the front four otters jumped into the shallows and dragged them up higher on the beach by the lines. Arvad leapt ashore once they stopped and assessed the area for danger, gesturing the others to unload when he was certain no surprise attacks would spring up on them. After all, they did all pay for safe passage.

"A'right, ya lot," Arvad announced with a slight smile. "Ya c'n come off now – an' welcome to the country o' Southsward!"

"This is s'posed ta be Orston Port," a squirrel chirped up. "Ya were s'posed to make berth in Orston."

"Plans change," the otter replied and gave the cloaked mouse a cagey glance. Plans did change… for a price. "We aren't far off Orston – ya c'n get there easy by followin' t' trail south."

One by one the travellers evacuated the small vessel; happily accepting directions to their destinations from the sailors. The mouse waited until all other were out before he rose from his seat and strode down the center of the oarbeasts. Without hesitation, he stepped up onto the edge and off onto the shore. He paused for but a moment, adjusting his haversack and belt from which hung a sword and scabbard.

"Know where yar going, mate?" Arvad questioned when a glimmer of sunlight reflected from the red pommel stone caught his eye. The mouse made no visible acknowledgement to the elder, though he uttered a word.

"Yes." The voice that responded was deep and hoarse from lack of use or still ailing from some sort of strain, like screaming for long periods of time or being choked until near death. Still, the guttural tone caused Arvad's uneasy feeling to elevate.

"Well, safe travels," he said quickly, giving the mouse a curt nod and striding back towards the rest of the crew and boat. The old sailor had only gone two paces when he felt a light paw on his upper arm. The otter turned to see the cloaked mouse standing directly behind him; still the creature's eyes were covered making it seem as if there were no soul housed within his body.

"If anybeast asks, I was never aboard your ship," he said, sternly. Reaching into his cloak, the mouse retrieved a small coin purse and placed it in the otter's palm. "And you didn't let me off here."

"Don't know who ya are even if I was asked, mate." _And that's the way I'd like to keep it._

"The wind whispers," the mouse replied. "The trees have ears and the shadows eyes. You never know what might be watching and listening, nor what they're telling and to whom." Closing Arvad's clawtips over the pouch, he said again, "I was never aboard your ship. You didn't let me off here. You never saw me."

Twice Arvad blinked, trying to link the ends together, before deeming them unreachable and giving the mouse a nod. The traveller's lips curled up at the corners into what could have been a pleasant smile if the upper half of his face were visible.

"Good," he responded and turned on his heel. Picking up a steady march, the mouse pushed his way through the others deciding on their courses and crossed the sands in determined strides. Arvad continued to watch the black cloak sway with its wearer's motion until the cloak, and the creature in it, disappeared amongst the trees.

"Who was t'at, Vaddy?" another sailor asked, drawing up even with the elder. Keeping his gaze on the break in the trees the mouse had vanished, he wrinkled his brow. "Who was t'at mouse?"

"Nobody," Arvad breathed and slipped the coin purse into his belt pouch when he felt a breeze kiss the side of his cheek. "There was nobody there."

* * *

**IF YOU READ IT, PLEASE REVIEW IT!**


	7. Chapter 5

**Thanks to Shadowed One 19 for the review of the last chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Cerys padded her way down the marble hallways of Palace Vasilis, her right paw laid gently over her left wrist before her; a habit she acquired to keep her paws from fidgeting. The princess walked with her head held high, but there was a softness to her demeanour – one that would have easily been mistaken for serenity except by those who knew her customary spirit and zest for life.

Maud watched her charge with a cautious eye from the head of pawmaids following their mistress.

"Are you sure you don't want a shawl, m'lady?" the ottermaid inquired as they exited the royal chambers of the western wing and towards the south facing apartments which housed the baronial quarters and rooms kept by Eutrusia's higher nobility. "Your gown is quite light for such a damp day."

The princess turned her head right, viewing the rain drizzling down the leaded windows. "It's a warm rain," she replied. There was no inflection to her tone, it was just … plain. "Besides, I doubt my aunt and I will be walking the gardens today, so there is little need for it."

"Yes, m'lady."

They walked the rest of the way in silence; pausing only for doors to be opened, addresses to be whispered and eyes to look on in search of hope. A hope that was slowly growing dim as a candle placed under a glass vase, its flame growing smaller by the flicker until all light was snuffed out in a tuff of gray smoke.

"I'm surprised to see the halls so empty," Maud commented, making conversation there was to be had. "With it rainin' the way it is – usually more nobles are dawdling about."

"There are few nobles left in Vasilis right now," Cerys stated. "And the few who are here will be preparing for council – it is in another bell."

The ottermaid nodded and shrugged her shoulders with a sigh. "They say Lieutenant Olan is back. Came in durin' the night."

"Her Majesty is having an audience with him now," Cerys affirmed. "Baron Ulran is still conducting the land search personally, but as far as the sea goes," she hesitated, pursed her lips and clenched fingers around her left wrist, "they have found nothing of the prince."

"A pity."

Cerys did not respond. She did not trust herself to say the right thing, or rather say anything at all that would have not resulted in tears of loss and frustration. For almost two months she had experienced more conflicting emotions than she ever had over the course of her life and in the end, no matter what feeling won the battle, she was left with the same result. Nothing.

"Your Highness," a footbeast greeted her as they neared the Eurian state apartments. Bowing low, the vole rose up and made ready to open the double doors. "The baroness is expecting you. She's in the solar."

"Thank-you." The doors were thrust inwards and the princess took a step forward. "I shall only need Maud to accompany me," she informed the others. "My lady aunt has more than enough servants to meet my needs. Please, wait for me back in the west wing."

"Yes, Highness," they chimed in chorus and with a rustle of skirts dipped into their curtsies. "As you wish."

"Come, Maud," she breathed and entered into the state apartment.

* * *

"They are all fools," the formidable Baroness Dellia declared and pulled the cloth of gold shawl up higher on her shoulders to ward off the warm breeze daring to whisk in her windows. Seeing the curtains billow, she glared at the open pane and the very wind seemed to stop, receding from the room. Cerys watched in awe – it was as if the air bowed and muttered an apology. That was the degree to which the Baroness of Eurus commanded a room, wasting sickness or not.

"They are all fools," she repeated and tipped her head towards the game of chess to pull Cerys' attention back onto her next move. "His Majesty your father, my lord Ulran, Baron Trysten…" She continued to rhyme off almost every high standing male in the kingdom that had been dispersed to find Aesir. "They fluttered about Aurelius like mindless drones, checking alleyways and hovels for the Etifedd. Like Aesir would hide in his own capital – is he five playing a game of hide and seek where the object is ultimately to be discovered? No, he is not. He left and they should have acted as such immediately."

The princess stayed silent and kept her eyes locked on the beautifully crafted silver and bronze game pieces scattered about the board of black onyx and white marble squares. She was never very good at the game. There were so many players, each with different functions and moves; the only ones she truly understood were the pawns- and they usually died off quick.

"They have broadened their search now," Cerys said and fluttered a paw over the admiral piece once before moving him diagonally across a square. Without hesitation, Dellia's paw flicked her warrior in an L-shape, knocking the admiral off the board with ease. The princess huffed and wound her tail around a leg beneath her gown skirts.

_Why did I not see that move coming?_ she thought to herself.

"Yes, but is it too late?" she scoffed and leaned back against her pillows. Her paw rose in the air above her head and she snapped her claws once; behind them a serving creature fiddled with some refreshments on the sideboard. "Aesir is leagues from Eutrusia by now. Mark my words."

"They are pursuing him." Cerys breathed.

"I suppose that is all they can do, given the circumstances," the baroness relented and accepted an offered crystal goblet of sweetened ice milk. "Though I would love to know _how_ Aesir managed to get out of Vasilis without being seen, let alone Eutrusia altogether. Some beast must have seen something."

"Father-" Dellia gently cleared her throat to correct the princess' informal address in the presence of servants. "I mean- His Majesty- had proclaimed a purse and ascension to the gentry to any beast who came forward with information."

"Yes, he did," she nodded and tut-tutted at Cerys' move of a rook. "And has any beast come forward?"

"None with any viable information but-" In a blur of bronze, the silver game piece was removed from the board. Cerys clenched her paws in frustration and resisted the urge to scream. Every move she made her aunt was step ahead of her. Before she even had a claw on the piece, the baroness already knew her next move. "My lady aunt- may we play another game?"

Her head cocked back as if insulted and Cerys looked down to fumble paws on her lap. "I'm just not very good at chess is all, Your Grace. I fear I may bore you with my inadequate performance."

"It would please me to continue the game, Your Highness," she said in a tone that was beyond appeal. "At least until we have finished the match."

The princess gave her conscent with a nod and raised a paw to make a move. Hovering clawtips over the silver knight, she jumped slightly when willowy fingers curled their cold tips around hers. She looked up at the baroness and she shook her head.

"Leave us." Two simple words and her entire entourage- her pawmaidens, her servants, the footbeasts, even Maud- quietly took their leave. Each paused for a moment at the door; bowing or curtsying in turn with a respectful 'your grace' before slipping through the opening and leaving them truly alone.

The baroness continued to hold the princess' paw and gaze until the door clicked shut and all was quiet. Her eyes gestured down to the board.

"Cerys, why were you moving your warrior, my dear?"

"I- I had to move it," she responded. "You would have taken it if I didn't."

She let go of Cerys' paw and tapped the head of her king. "Yes, but by doing that, you leave your king exposed. The warrior acts as a shield for your king." The princess blinked. "Yes, you would have lost your warrior, but gained the play you needed to move your king to safety."

She moved the pieces around the board move by move, explaining as she went. "Move your warrior and I would have had a clear advantage to take your king," she instructed. "Then you would have lost the game - _lost your kingdom._

"A warrior knows the consequences of going to war," she continued. "They know when they go to battle, they go for the betterment of the realm and their life is forfeit to the Fates the moment they raise the banners."

She took Cerys' silver game piece and knocked it over with her admiral. The princess stared at the moulded metal in silence; her eyes glazed over and all she could see was him. She closed her eyes against the memories, squeezing them from her mind, and when she opened them again, her aunt was rearranging the pieces back on the board.

"The enemy will always try to defeat your king, Cerys," she said, her voice taking a huskier tone and Cerys watched the baroness blink back tears that didn't dare break over the rims of her eyes. "Remember that. You can kill every single piece on this game board and as long as the king survives - so does the kingdom, so does the game. But once that king is lost - it does not matter how many are still standing in the end for it all for naught without the sovereign."

She nodded, suddenly realizing this was more than just recreational instruction. "So, if I move my king," Cerys moved the game piece to the right and watched as the baroness struck the warrior away. "You can still defeat me- you can still take my king."

The princess' face pulled in every direction as she tried to control the flood of tears that sprain to her eyes. "It didn't matter that he died - the king is still lost, the kingdom lost – the warrior will die for nothing. The cursed ruspic said Father's life would be short lived – and Aesir is gone!"

Dellia rose to her footpaws and swooped down onto the lounge beside her niece; gathering the princess in her arms and wrapping her shawl around a pair of quaking shoulders. Cerys buried herself in the embrace like she was a little mouselet again that stubbed a footpaw on a chair leg. As strong willed and stoic as Baroness Dellia was, beasts always said she had a special place in her heart for her niece. Most creatures she would have admonished for such behaviour, but for Cerys, she just let her cry.

"Your warrior maybe dead, Cerys, but your kingdom is far from lost," she whispered and rested her chin on the princess' mound of curling headfur.

"Wh-what?" she stuttered and looked up at her aunt. "Wh-what do you mean it's not lost?"

"Look at your players, my dear," she said and pointed to the board. "Look who is within striking distance."

In an unladylike gesture, Cerys wiped the backs of her paws over her eyes. "I only have my queen left."

"Ah, yes- the queen," she mused. "A very important piece to the game, don't you think?"

"Master Hyrlod says it's the most useless player," the princess stated for no reason other than something to say. "He said the queen is behind too many other useful players to be of much use."

"A male would say that." Haughtiness rolled off her tongue and she stiffened into proper posture beside me. "He is wrong, of course."

"Wrong?" Cerys echoed. "The queen isn't the weakest game piece?"

"No, Cerys - she is the strongest."

The princess' brow furrowed and she cocked her head to the side in search of an explanation, but as a true relation to the king, her Aunt Lia quizzed her into understanding.

"Cerys," she said matter-of-factly. "How many female players do you see on this game board?"

"Only the one, Aunt Lia."

"That is because only one is needed." Her advocacy of their gender was comical to some, but for anybeast that truly knew the Baroness of Eurus, they did not ever question a female's capabilities.

"The queen is placed at the rear guard to protect the realm. Beside the king they make up the kingdom and control their _pawns,_ their _warriors,_ their _admirals_, their _castles…_" She spoke with the command of a captain positioning his lieutenants. "If, or when, their lines are broken, the king must move out of harm's way to sustain the realm - but he does so one step, or square, at a time. He cannot move more than that at one time for he is carefully watched. The queen," she said, tapping the crystal crown of the player, "can move more, advancing forward or back. She is not watched and she is as strong as she is deadly."

Bit by bit the words processed in the young princess' mind and she began to understand - even though she did not truly know it yet- the meaning of her lesson. Slowly, she took the queen, advanced her the squares and knocked over her aunt's bronze admiral with a tiny clink of metal.

The Baroness Dellia stood and made her way back to her pillowed lounge so we were facing each other again. Covering her mouth against a violent cough, she took a drink of water from her goblet and moved her rook over to the left. Cerys took her queen and struck it out of the way also. She awaited Dellia's next move, but nothing came. Gazing down at the board, Cerys calculated her aunt's possible movements - but she didn't have any.

"Checkmate?" the princess whispered in disbelief. "Checkmate."

"You are learning," she smiled and settled back against the cushions. "Come to see me every day, Cerys, and I will teach you how this game is played."

A soft knock broke the magic of their moment and the baroness rolled her eyes. "Come!" she proclaimed and scrutinized the intruder.

"Beggin' your pardon, Your Grace, Your Highness," the squirrel firmed, flopping his body forward into a bow. "But Her Majesty the Queen sent a word she has taken ill with a head pain and cannot attend this day's council meeting." Dellia blinked her acknowledgement and the herald gulped apprehension down his throat before continuing. "She had hoped one of you would go in her stead and oversee the proceedings."

"Well," Dellia surmised and reached for her cane. "I suppose our game time will be cut short. Inform the queen, Princess Cerys and I will gladly serve in her stead. Come, Your Highness," she said, rising up and motioning for the princess to do the same. "Let's go play with the pawns."

* * *

Cerys strode through the hallways of the palace with her aunt, her head held high and eyes focused before her. There was a new vigour to her step, and though not wholly confident, it was not of youthful exuberance or solemn candour. It was a measured gait; calculated and observant. As she went, servants and nobles bowed in reverence; stepping back and allowing the two royal females to proceed without hesitation. Reaching the Grand Gallery, they paused for the briefest of moments while Cerys took in the few beasts of gentry lingering about the hall before striking forward again towards the Council Chambers. In perfect sequence the footbeasts opened the tall double doors wide and the herald announced their presence to the assembly.

"Their Royal Highnesses, Princess Cerys of Eutrusia and, Her Grace, Baroness Dellia of Eurus!"

With a flick of her wrist, Dellia dismissed both their pawmaids to the walls and continued around the stone table to the gilded chair at the head. As she drew near, advisors and chancellors rose from their seats, giving small bows or exaggerated nods to acknowledge her attendance.

"Your Grace," Lord Naveen smiled and bowed to her with his paw over his heart. "It is a pleasure to see you up and about the palace."

"I have been up and about the palace, as you call it, for a month now, Naveen," Dellia countered. "But I accept your well wishes, belated as they are. Now," she chirped, nodding to the single gilded chair. "Is somebeast going to move that and bring us each our own seats, or is the princess to sit on my knee?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Naveen conceded and flicked his withered paw at a pair of serving beasts. "A seat for the baroness and princess – at once."

The council members exchanged glances while the seating arrangements were rectified. Once able, the royal females settled themselves onto their velvet cushions and beheld the assembly as they too took their seats. Chancellor Derik leaned forward on the table and inquired, "How fairs the queen, highnesses? We are all quite concerned at this sudden illness."

"A head pain and nothing more," Cerys assured them. "An affliction due to the passing weather, I am certain. You should see the Queen Regent about her duties tomorrow."

"A light agenda," Dellia remarked, lifting the parchment before her with a manicured paw. "An oddity considering the circumstances of the realm. Every high standing noble is away from the capital, most of our military leaders absent as well, not to mention our king abroad and our Etifedd all but vanished, and yet we have no section here by which any reports will be read." She eyed every creature with particular scrutiny before continuing, "An interesting exclusion."

Cerys studied her own program, more than one advisor shifted tersely in their seats and Lord Naveen cleared his throat. Leaning his upper body slightly towards the baroness, he spoke softly, "We have been trying to keep things light on the Queen Regent," he informed her. "She is burdened enough with worry for the life of her son and husband, without adding the trivial matters of state to press upon her. When there is need, we bring it to her attention and seek her decision, but until there is cause for judgement, we deal with it amongst ourselves."

"Queen Valina _is_ the regent," Dellia affirmed. "She rules in place of the king. Everything should be brought to her attention whether it is deemed trivial or not."

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but she does not need to be bothered by the decision to recount a store of wheat sheaves."

"Perhaps she would like to be bothered," Cerys piped, attracting the attention of the chamber. Forcing herself not to impart the nerves she felt, Cerys added, "Forgive my outburst, my lords, I know I am here as more of an observer, and I do not pretend to know the workings of the council, but I merely want to bring attention to the fact if my mother were to be bothered and troubled by ordinary, common details of state, perhaps it would help ease some of the burdens of the _extraordinary_ situation imposed on her, and our kingdom, at this time."

They did not openly agree with her, but a few of the creatures nodded; others turned to their neighbour and whispered comments.

"We will take that into consideration, Your Highness," Naveen replied and gave her a kind smile.

"Shall we begin?" Dellia announced, tapping the first item on the list. "What in the name of the Seasons does _Lord Ardney _want?"

Derik plucked a scroll from his pile. "Condolences, Your Grace," he informed and passed it down the table to the baroness. "Surprising words really, coming from so sordid a creature. It seems almost … heartfelt."

Dellia gave an incredulous snort. "Lord Ardney of Oremere says nothing heartfelt. No doubt his spies have reported the Etifedd's disappearance to him and he is pretending empathy while he makes plans." She collected the scroll and scanned the dialect before handing it off to Cerys. "And with my brother the King absent from the realm, that old hog will be sharpening his spikes."

"If I may, Your Grace," Derik intervened. "We have an accord with Lord Ardney. Your own husband, Baron Ulran, is in charge of the regulations imposed on Oremere. If we cannot trust our allies, especially in times as these, who can we trust?"

"We can trust our enemies to be enemies, traitors to be traitors and climbers to climb," Dellia put simply. "Come now, my lords – we all remember what Lord Ardney did the last time he viewed Eutrusia as weak. Do the bards sing _The Waves of Oremere_ for nothing?"

"I have written Baron Ulran and asked him to add extra watches to the eastern coast line," Naveen assured her. "It was always King Matthias' policy to treat Oremere's actions, no matter how innocent the intention, with caution and scrutiny," he furthered with particular candour earning a approving smile from the baroness.

"We should have the Oremere envoy to a private dinner," Dellia stated to the gathering, although focusing her words on Cerys. "To thank him for Ardney's concern and assure him of our continued strength. There is no hiding the fact both king and prince are away from the realm, however we can seduce him to think that we know more than we do. Feigned optimism is a powerful thing.

"Make the invitation to Chancellor Jorge. He will dine with the Queen Regent, Princess Cerys and I in two days' time," she directed Derik. "Surely, I still have enough life left in me to entertain a bumbling iron-beast. Tell me, does he still spit when he talks?"

A low chuckle rumbled through the council, breaking some of the building tension. Cerys watched her aunt from the corner of her eye. The way she talked, gestured and stressed her point at different turns about the meeting. Always she questioned, pressing them to divulge all they knew to her, never happy with a simple answer. She was almost militant in her approach to the council, a captain organizing its markers about a map in plan of attack – or a simple player moving its pawns around a chess board.

Turning her attention about the table, the princess began to view the creatures in a different light, a different shape and form. Each was a piece of the game with their own individual ranks and movements unique to their position. Memories took her back to bygone days of summer storms when her father and Aesir would sit in front of the fire in the family's common solar off the Presence Chamber, bent over the chess board. Bells they would sit while she and her mother worked on their embroidery, Matthias preparing his son metaphorically for the days ahead of him; the very lesson Cerys was learning.

"And lastly, the Clawling Isles had another failed land harvest and seek aid in the manner of food provisions," Gavinston mumbled out, breaking Cerys' train of thought. "It appears the rains from last fall spoiled their field and tree harvests." He held up a piece of parchment bearing the Clawling seal. "They have tried to ration their foodstuffs, but they are running out of supplies. They ask for our aid."

Dellia looked over at Cerys; the princess sighed and crooked her clawtips, beckoning the missive forward. "How much to they require, chancellor?"

"As much as we can spare, Your Highness," he responded, adjusting the spectacles on his long snout. "The spring fruits should be harvestable within a month, but as you read, they have no grains. Not even wheat to make bread."

"We should have enough stores in grains to send them something, Your Highness," Lord Oakley informed them over a tome of harvest figures. "Our current counts are more than adequate in wheat and barley."

"May I see?"

The elderly squirrel blinked owlishly at the notion, slowly processing the request in his mind. After a moment of silence, he asked, "You would like to see the charts, Your Highness?"

"Yes." Reluctantly, Oakley closed the volume and held it up for a serving beast to bring down the length of the table for the princess.

"The tables are complicated, Your Highness," he advised when Cerys opened the cover and flipped the pages to their latest assessment. "They give the mass of the hold, but then you must calculate the – careful, princess!" he gasped when a page crinkled.

Dellia smirked. "Easy, my lord – its records, not your firstborn."

"We have more wheat than barley," Cerys deduced. "Much more." She was quiet for a moment, "Send the barley. Keep the wheat."

"Your Highness –"

"If Oremere is a threat to us, then we will need the wheat to feed our army," she affirmed, loudly. "Barley will keep the beasts of the Clawings fed until something grows for them."

There was a loud knock on the door, interrupting the assembly as all eyes focused on the herald that slipped his head through the narrow opening of the door and exchanged words with the messenger in whispered voices.

"Who could be disturbing us now?" Lord Naveen grumbled, shuffling papers in front of him. Raising an eyebrow when the herald emerge from the hall, he questioned, "Well? What is it?"

"A sooty tern has landed on the Tilt Grounds," was the reply. "Keyx is back from the west."

Dellia pushed herself upright and leaned on the stone table to support her lithe frame. "Keyx accompanied _Mawredd_ on the king's journey. How can he be back without the ship?"

Cerys tensed; her eyes widened and she clutched the arms of her chair. All around her, the lords of council held their breath. In the distance, bells began to toll the turn of an hour – each gong the sound of a hammer fall.

"He appears to have brought a missive. It has been taken directly to the Queen Regent."

* * *

Far off to the west, the sun was high in the sky; a smudge of yellowy light amidst the array of blue shades from both sky and sea. Not a blemish could be seen on the landscape, not a speck of land on the horizon. All around was nothing but ocean, air … and fire.

Great billows of black smoke rose to the sky in an angry torrent from the three ships locked in a battle. Two corsair galleys flanked their quarry, a large gilded vessel nearly twice their size. The attacker on the starboard side was engulfed in flames; its crew jumping into the sea to save their lives from the flames, its oarslaves screaming while they burned and drowned simultaneously as the ship started to sink. The sounds and smell of death were everywhere, but there wasn't anything that could be done. There wasn't anything any beast could do.

"Chop it down!" Admiral Daelahn yelled as he battled a rat from the port side ship. Running the vermin through the belly, he yanked his rapier out and aimed its point down at the main mast. Sparks from the burning galley had flown the sea breeze and ignited the top of the mast in fire. "Chop it down! Chop it down!"

A pair of strong hedgehogs with battle axes fell onto the task, taking intermitted swings with their weapons like a lumberer to a tree. Over and over they struck the wood while the yardbeasts scurried about the fore and mizzenmasts to tie up the sails least they catch fire as well. On the deck, the corsairs kept flowing in over the port railing; pressing the Guard and Mariners had in combat. Lieutenant Condor bellowed orders to his underlings. Push forward. Don't hold back. Protect the king. Protect the king …

Matthias battled beside Daelahn on the quarter deck, fighting off the seascum as they tried to force their way to the helm. His right paw gripped his sword, his broken left arm he held to his chest as blood dripped off his elbow; the effect of a mace swing deflected with his forearm. His own bodyguards lay cold at his feet, their duty upheld to the highest degree and sacrifice.

"Lieutenant!" Matthias shouted as he kicked a stoat back down the stairs. "Condor! Get those lines cut! Break us free!"

The lieutenant answered in the form of action, shoving his way to the railings and hacking away at the thick lines used to tie the two ships together.

Black smoke and grey steam blew in from the starboard side; the burnt galley was now in the firm paw of the sea as the ocean coiled its watery fingers around the ship and pulled it down to the depths with a resounding hiss. The clouds billowed onto _Mawredd's_ deck, engulfing all the creatures in its noxious smell of soot, ash and burning flesh. Vermin and woodlander alike coughed and teared at the stench, the battle taking a momentary pause for them to regain their breath.

Matthias' opponent was quicker to recover than he. Lashing cross body with a curved sabre, the searat narrowly missed carving the king in two as the royal mouse jumped backwards. Still coughing, Matthias deflect the strikes, unable to make his own attack for lack of air. Backing up to the railing, he spun away in time to avoid another downward chop as Daelahn kicked the beast overboard from behind.

"Ya, alright, Your Maj-" he started before being forced into combat with another wave of advancers. Matthias coughed and hacked by the railing, his mind racing at the sights of war aboard his ship. Thoughts swirled in his head – Could they get away? Would they get home? Was this the end? Were they to die out here in the middle of the ocean? Would they be taken as slaves? Had his son faced a similar fate?

The crew shouted warnings as the main mast started to sway. Left to right she rocked, jostling the ship and making her hop and bop on the water. At Daelahn's command, all free paws leapt on the timber, using all their might to push the mast towards the port side. Loose ropes from the yards were yanked and pulled in the right direction – they only had one chance. There could be no mistakes. The corsairs beheld the action for a brief second; the reality of Eutrusians' intentions coming slowly to the minds as the beam started to fall.

_Crack!_

With a mighty crash the main mast fell onto the corsair galley, breaking her in two on impact and sending its crew running for the stem or stern. _Mawredd_ dipped left from the shifting weight and tipped as the mast slid down into the sea. Cries went up from the crew as they clutched onto anything they could find to stop from falling overboard.

"Weigh anchor!" the admiral ordered as a Mariner pulled the peg to lose the iron weight on the starboard side. The ship responded with a jerk, flipping the mast off its broken railing and deck and into the waters below. Matthias grimly hung onto the side rail, letting the officers take control of the chaos and by any miracle of the Seasons, deliver them from the Fates.

"Now, break the chains!" Daelahn command and whipped the wheel hard to starboard. "Full canvas, mates! Let's get outta 'ere before that galley sucks us down!"

The deck was alive with activity; Mariners scurried to do their admiral's bidding, the Guards dispelling the remainder of the corsairs. Thinking the ship had centered, Matthias let go of his safeguard; rising to his footpaws and taking two steps away before the chains of the anchor were broken and _Mawredd_ pitched left again. The king stumbled backwards in his pain stricken daze, hitting the railing with no sense of balance. Snatching at a pile of rope as he flipped over the edge, Matthias gave a great yell and fell towards the turbulent water.

* * *

**Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the tale! :D**


	8. Chapter 6

**A special thanks to Shadowed One 19 for the review of the last chapter, and to answer your question, YES! in Eutrusian chess, the 'admiral' is the 'bishop' game piece.**

**There is a lot of set up during the beginning chapters of _Banners High_ but don't worry, we're getting building now into some tie-ups where the four arches will start interacting. The next chapter should bring about some much loved characters that were refocused for this version. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Under a bower of purple blooms, Valina leaned against the trunk of a lilac tree; her cheek rested against its smooth bark like it was his shoulder and she was there again in his arms. With unblinking eyes she stared out over the peaceful seclusion of her private garden, watching the phantoms of memories play with her vision until they blurred true. The breeze played voices in her ears and she clutched the rolled papyrus closer to her heart before taking a shuddering breath.

_"Keep your eyes closed," he whispered, more excited than a youngster for their first slice of cake. Guiding her forward by the paw, Matthias coaxed, "Almost there."_

_"Oh, Matthias, just tell me what the surprise is!" she laughed. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation for more than one reason, but she dared not lessen the revelation by peeking. _

_"Just a moment." He halted them and turned her body slightly. Heat from the sun warmed her face, the sea breeze licked at her fur and the perfume of a million tiny blooms waltzed into her nose. A smile beamed on her face._

_"Matthias –"_

_"Alright, my queen, open your eyes."_

Valina's left palm patted the trunk and ran it down the bark. "He gave me you," she whispered to the tree. "My favourite wedding gift – although you arrived a month late." The tree answered with a quiver of boughs. "And you weren't the only thing a month late then, were you?" she mused. "Yes, you were there for all of our life's moments."

_He gaped at her, his skin blanching under his coppery fur and yet, he did not remove his palm where she held it on her belly; he simply looked to be turning to stone._

_"Matthias, please say something," she pleaded. "You're –"_

_"You're carrying?" he gulped, blinking at every syllable. "Are you certain?"_

_"The midwives confirmed it this morning," she replied. "Come autumn we will have a little prince or princess to celebrate." He finally breathed, a smiling radiating on his face – an expression that mirrored her own. "Matthias, we're going to be parents."_

Valina's clawtips met her lips in memory of the kiss he gave her next beneath that very tree and a season and a half later, they both held their newborn son together under the branches.

_"Look at his tiny whiskers," Matthias cooed, watching their new mouseling kick free of his swaddling bands about a silken blanket. "Look at those legs go!"_

_"He's happy," she smirked, bending over to rub noses with her precious treasure, "Such a happy little princeling. When do we get to know his name?"_

_The king smiled and took a narrow scroll from his overrobe, its paper wound tight and sealed with silver wax. Valina's eyes widened. "This morning," he affirmed. "It just arrived at dawn."_

_"Matthias, open it!" she exclaimed and curled into her husband for a better view. "Is it his prophecy, too?"_

_"No, Vali," he said, unrolling the missive. "This is just his name, and his name is –"_

_"Aesir," she finished. Turning back to her little one, Valina picked up the mouseling with his coppery fur and bright blue eyes. "Prince Aesir."_

_ Matthias discarded the scroll and wrapped his paws around her, lifting his queen onto his lap to hold his new family together. He kissed her cheek and gazed down at the still kicking infant. "Our little Prince Aesir," he breathed._

Looking around the garden she saw them. The simple stone bench Aesir held onto when he learned to stand. The wall fountain he used to sail his toy ships in. The hedges Matthias used to play hide and seek with Aesir and Cerys. Even the mournful memories shadowed their way into her mind.

_"Mama?" Aesir whispered and crept up to where she lay curled in a ball under her lilac tree, a shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders; she was exhausted, cold and … empty. Empty and alone. "Mama, are you alright?"_

_She looked up at him and shook her head. "No, Aesir." Tears welled in her eyes and Valina pursed her lips to hold in a cry. "I'm not."_

_"We're still here," Aesir breathed, kneeling down beside her. He made the move to embrace her, but pulled back, not knowing where he could touch her. "Father, Cerys and I won't leave you like the babe … we all love you, Mama."_

Twice more he came to comfort her after her miscarriages, offering words of succour and reassurance none of them would go anywhere; but the last time, after her horrific accident on the stairs and the birth of a stillborn, her princeling came with his own tearful eyes and terse lips.

_He offered no words of greeting, but went to his knees in front of her and laid his head on her lap, arms encircling her in a tight hold._

_"I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered into the folds of her recovery gown. "It's all my fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."_

_"Aesir," she hushed and stroking his ears with a bandaged paw, the purple bruising stretching above and below the wrapping. "It is not your fault."_

_He sniffed and wriggled his head. "It is. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have been on those stairs."_

_"I wanted to watch your first day of real training," she sighed, a weary smile lighting her face. "I heard how good you are – I wanted to see you come into your own." She raised his face with a paw cupped under his chin. "I'm so proud of my son. My little prince."_

_"I'm nothing to be proud of," he seethed. "I don't have Bloodwrath and now because of my failure, not only am I a disappointment to you, but your fall was for nothing. My brother died for nothing … You are hurt for _nothing!"

_She grasped his shaking shoulders. "Aesir, listen to me. This is not your fault. I made the decision to go to the Tilt Grounds. I tripped and fell on the stairs. It was my choice and the consequences of them are mine and mine alone."_

_"Aesir?" Matthias' voice sounded from the garden entrance. Both mother and son turned their attention to the king. "Training."_

_"I-I trained this morning already."_

_"You're training again. Get up."_

The queen pulled herself upright and wiped half-dried tears from her face with a paw, banishing the memories from her thoughts. One cleansing breathe after another she righted her emotions and reset her resolve. Two months of searching and nothing. Three ships the king and his company had waylaid and nothing. Not a whiff of Aesir. Not a sound. But would these sailors and merchants know Aesir if he was hidden, disguised or kept unseen?

Would they recognize the subtle things? His laughter or the way a blush crimsoned his ear tips? Would they spot his quarks and habits? How he always switched utensils in his paws when he cut into his meal, or pretended to stretch out his left shoulder when he was bored? Would they know his scent when it escaped upon the breeze? The one deeper than mint soap or spiced oil – the scent only a mother would know; the one she smelled when she held him for the first time and kissed is little head.

"And you are mine, as I am yours, forever and all time," she lulled, muttering a traditional mother's blessing. "Sun before and wind behind, and always with my heart you'll climb."

"Ah, Valina, there you are." The queen turned to see Dellia making her way slowly down the loose tumbled stone way, he cane pricking the white pebbles with each shuffling step. "You have the whole council looking for you."

"Dellia, you shouldn't be out here," Valina sighed, getting to her footpaws and helping her sister-in-law under the shelter of the tree. "The rain has stopped for now, but it is still damp. It's not good for you and your condition."

"Nonsense, Valina," she scoffed, but took the offered paw all the same. "It feels good to be out in the air." Dellia noted the tear lines marring Valina's fur and the puffiness to her eyes. "Keyx brought bad news?" she asked, squaring her shoulders in preparation.

The queen blurted out a syllable of a laugh, a helpless, forsaken bolt of sound, and shook her head. "No," she related. "He brought no news. Just a quick letter from Matthias saying they've intercepted three different vessels and Aesir isn't on any of them! They are on their way home for more supplies."

"I suppose it is good news. Matthias is needed here – the council members are starting to take liberties."

"You noticed that as well?"

"Naveen's intentions are in good heart, I think, but some of them like Derik I worry about. Matthias needs to come home and reassert his position before they start getting any bumbling ideas."

Valina nodded. Two months was a long time for a monarch to be absent from their realm, especially when their line was insecure. With a tip of her head, the two females began walking back to the door into the palace.

"Thank-you for overseeing the council today," Valina said, keeping her gait slow. "After hearing Lieutenant Olan's fruitless mission, I – well –" she gave a half smile before continuing. "I placed my hope in Olan finding him on the eastern waters. Despite Admiral Daelahn and Matthias' conclusion Aesir went west, I secretly thought he would have escaped towards the sunrise. After all, when has Aesir ever run from something and directly at the fight? And now, no beast can find him."

"You must keep faith, Valina," Dellia advised her. "When Matthias comes back he will need your strength more than ever. He will be quite discouraged having not found Aesir.

"Cerys faired quite well in the council meeting," Dellia continued in the queen's silence. Padding her way up the short stairs, the baroness grinned. "She is learning quickly."

"Where is Cerys?" Valina inquired, removing the damp shawl from her shoulders. "I need to let her know of the king's message."

The baroness sneered in distaste and curled a lip. "Making sure Ulrick is still alive in the dungeons. If the king returns, it would be a pity for some other beast to off him before Matthias has a chance to rip him apart himself."

"You said _if, _Dellia."

The aging lady stopped and took Valina's paws in hers. "I meant nothing by it, but the seas are a perilous place to be."

* * *

The dungeons of Vasilis were ablaze with lanterns and torches. Yellow cones of light lit the darkness and warmed the walls of stone flecked with reams of silver. No shadows formed in the corners. No fear brewed in the depths. Even the cells were lit and warm despite the cold feel of iron against the captive's back.

Ulrick lay upon a mound of fresh straw, a comfort handsomely paid for by the Baron of Eurus; his daily rations still in their tin plate and cup beside him. Above him, the rock ceiling glittered and shone with a kind of hope, like an eye winking at him to tell him everything would be alright. He had luck on his side, and more importantly, he had time. No longer did he have a shadow to assure him all would come to him, but as he watched, the signs unfolded. A look of assurance marred his features and he hummed to himself, passing the seemingly endless span of time with song.

"The sky was gray, the sea was black;  
The rebels lined their shores.  
Our ships were crewed, the Guards unpack'd;  
To defend our right and lore.  
'Hold your courage, we will not fail;'  
Our king spoke good and true.  
'Our cause is strong, their hearts are weak;  
We'll fight 'till we are through.'  
And so it was, and so it was,  
Those Waves of Oremere.  
But as Eutrusia's might unfold-ed,  
The shards of stone felt even fear…"

"You of all beasts should be wary of that song." An icy tone chilled the air of the dungeon cell with hate. Ulrick tipped his head towards the source, smiling at the sight of Princess Cerys glowering at him between the iron bars. The guards on either side of her looked as impressed as she and gripped their spears tight.

"You should be afraid to sing that tune," Cerys continued, her words seething with venom. "Seeing as the king who led that massacre happens to be the very one set to sign your death warrant."

"Ah, but he hasn't signed it yet," Ulrick smirked and pushed himself up to his paws and executed a formal bow due to a royal. "He delayed when he could have acted and waited for the final knell to put ink to parchment; a toll that never came – for me that is."

"It's all but done, my lord," Cerys threatened. "The king wishes to question you further upon his return and then he will call for your head." She made an exaggerated glance backwards at the tables and walls littered with devices and tools to force out even a creature's deepest held secrets. "That is of course if you have one left to lop off."

"Strong words, Your Highness," he chuckled. "You really think His Majesty would torture me? You think _my father_ would allow any affliction to me?"

"Baron Ulran has no choice! If it is the king's command -"

"Which he won't give." Ulrick waved off the risk as if it were as inconsequential as a beaker of water. "Those relics haven't been used in an age."

To that, the princess was silent. It was true Matthias had never given the decree to torture a beast, though he had never the need to. During his reign, there had been no need for information getting, no cause for extreme measures.

"To what do I owe the honour of your visit, highness?" Ulrick inquired. "Have you come to set me free?"

She laughed. "Not likely, Lord Ulrick. I came only to make sure you had not strung yourself up from the rafters."

"As amusing to you as that would be, I would find it rather dull," he parried. "Life is far more interesting than death."

Cerys shook her head at his confidence. "You are quite sure of yourself, my lord."

"When the world is such an unstable place, be sure of yourself for you."

"Patinter the Poet," Cerys muttered, slightly shocked by his use of literature. "You read poetry?"

"When the world is such an unstable place, be sure of yourself for you," he quoted with a light smile. "Trust that others take care of themselves, and you'll see the sun through the blue." He laughed at the astounded look on her face. "Yes, Your Highness, I read poetry. I was educated as a lord and future baron after all."

"I know, I just…" she stopped herself from prattling and as the guards shifted beside her, reminding her of her duty. "Count your days, Ulrick- you're time is almost over."

"You've changed, Your Highness," the haughty lord called as Cerys turned on her heel to leave the cell row. "You aren't as soft as you were two months ago."

"You didn't know me before, Ulrick," she sneered over her shoulder. "You have no idea how much I've changed." Nodding to her bodyguards, Cerys lifted her chin and strode forward out of the corridor and into the main hall of the dungeon.

As she walked, the princess could hear Ulrick continue his song:

"And so it was, and so it was,  
Those Waves of Or-e-mere.  
But as Eutrusia's might unfold-ed,  
The shards of stone felt even fear."

* * *

A fire burned low and cold in a forest hollow; a single shot of colour amongst the black and indigo tones of the trees beneath a starless sky. The flames licked at the wood, crackling the bark and hissing the moisture away from the branches with every flicker of orange. Drawn back away from the light was a mouse cloaked in black munching quietly on a pawful of scavenged berries and roasted chestnuts. His hood remained pulled down over his eyes, yet his head turned towards every sound the forest made, his ears forward and alert, his nose twitching for smells of danger. He didn't speak, he didn't hum; he barely made a noise was he swallowed his meagre meal and drank from his canteen. Out of habit, he wiped the corners of his mouth with the edge of his cloak and poured a dribble of water over his clawtips to clean them.

A smile softened his lips, the recall of some lost memory and he uttered a sigh, long and low. Resting his paws on his lap, he turned up his palms and looked upon their coarseness; tracing the scars from blisters and multiple callouses with the tips of his foreclaws.

"Rough as a fieldpaw's," he rasped out in a low whisper and grimaced at the foreign tone that escaped his mouth. Pursing his lips, the creature raised his chin to rub his tender throat, exposing a patch of coppery fur and a thin black line creeping up from his collarbone to just before his jugular. Around it, his fur was curled and brittle; singed by whatever made the mark. He drew in a strong breath through his nose, setting his resolve against the memories that came back to him.

The wind whistled through the trees, rustling leaves and creaking the branches above; immediately the mouse lowered his chin to his chest and tucked his body under the blackness of his cloak. His tail he curled around himself, his footpaws made ready to pounce while his right paw gripped his sword handle tight. One breath, two breaths, three… four. The breeze continued to flutter the treetops, but no other sound was heard or object seen – no shifting shadows, no wheezing breath… no amber eyes stared out of the blackness at him. It was just forest around him - yet, it was not wholly safe. He was in a new land, with new threats not yet encountered. He knew little of Southsward and even less about its potential dangers, save one. But he was not there yet. No. He still had far to travel east before he found that menace.

Giving the blaze his back, the figure shed his cloak – taking extra care to keep his face concealed in the shadow of the firelight. He was young, on the verge of adulthood and though his build was not burly, his posture was tall and shoulders strong. He was garbed in simple linen shirt tied loosely at his neck and a long black jerkin that fell to his knees; a worn leather belt sat snug at his waist while his sword and scabbard hung neatly on his left side, on his right a roundel dagger. His copper fur peaked out where his clothing warranted and his eyes he kept narrowed and low. If one could catch a glimpse of them, they would have seen the vivid blue to their irises – and the faint threads of red lacing through them.

Quietly, the mouse used his haversack and a nearby rock to arrange his cloak to look like a beast sleeping by the fire, before reaching for a limb and pulling himself up onto the oak tree. Up he climbed, until he was hidden amongst the budding leaves and settled himself on a wide branch with his back to the trunk. In the distance he could hear the gentle rumble of thunder and looked longingly down at his cloak with a sigh. He was hungry and tired and the idea of being drenched on top of it was not high on his list, yet one he would have to put up with to ensure his safety for a night in strange land.

Wiggling himself into a comfortable position, the mouse gazed up at the sky above him. No stars winked back at him from above and clouds slowly started to appear from the east in gray tufts illuminated by the thin crescent of a waxing moon. And yet he continued to stare at the abyss overhead, feeling the weight of its solitude press hard against him until he could barely breathe and his chest heaved with exertion.

Another roll of thunder echoed through the forest and the gentle patter of rain began to play upon the foliage. It broke his rising angst and the mouse smiled lightly at the sound. If he listened hard enough, imagined strong enough, he could hear the sounds of her dulcimer strings floating up to him as he watched from his balcony; the sea around them and her love in his heart.

A shooting star lanced the sky before it was covered with cloud - a single bolt of light streaking west against everything else so dark. The smile left his face and huffed out a painful exhale of breath.

_Cerys, _he thought, but dare not speak the word. He would not ruin the beauty of her name with the hideousness of his voice.

Lightning lit the sky and the rain drove down in sheets upon the world. The mouse pulled his knees to his chest and tucked his paws and snout between his thighs and abdomen, while keeping his right palm tight around the leather bound handle of his sword. Within moments he was soaked to the fur and shivering with chill, but he would not give in to the elements. He could survive a bit of cold; after all, he had suffered much worse.

Directly above him, thunder boomed and shook the tree, causing the mouse to dig his footclaws into the bark to stay on his perch. He gave a feral snarl in challenge and glared up at the eastern storm with a look of pure hate until the rains stung his eyes too much and he had to retreat from his gaze downward again. Miserable as he was, he refused to recognize complaint, fully knowing that far to the west across the sea others were snuggled warm and safe in their beds while he remained drenched and cold in a tree.

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**So ... reviews?**


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